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THE   HEARTHSTONE   SERIES 

A  series   of   GOOD    STORIES   in    an    attractive 
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A    QUESTION    OF    DAMAGES  J.  T.  Trowbridge 

THE    CAMPION    DIAMONDS  Sophie  May 

THE   MAN   WHO   STOLE   A    MEETING    HOUSE 

J.  T.  Trowbridge 

GETTING    AN    INDORSER  By  Oliver  Optic 

(William  T.  Adams) 

THE   STORY    OF    A    BOOM    TOWN       Ellen  J.  Cooley 
EXILED    FROM    TWO    LANDS       Everett  T.  Tomlinson 


Our  Complete  Catalogue  sent  on  application 


LEE  and  SHEPARD  Publishers  Boston 


Question  of  Damages 


BY 


J.   T.    TROWBRIDGE 

Author  of  "  Cudjo's  Cave"  "  Neighbor  Jackwood  "  "Three 
Scouts"  "  Tinkham  Brothers'  Tide-Mill"  etc. 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

10     MILK     STREET 
1897 


Copyright,  1897,  by  J.  T.  Trowbridge 


All  rights  reserved 
A  Question  of  Damages 


PRESS   OF 

BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


A  QUESTION  OF  DAMAGES 


I 

THE  ACCIDENT  AT  CAMP  CREEK 
On  the  last  day  of  August,  1857,  the  afternoon 
express  train  met  with  an  accident  at  Camp  Creek 
crossing.  Two  cars  went  down  the  embankment, 
the  forward  one  making  a  headlong  plunge  to  the 
river-bed,  and  the  other  crashing  into  it.  The 
water  was  shallow  and  there  were  no  burning  brands 
scattered  to  fire  the  wreck;  it  was  found  that  no- 
body had  been  killed,  although  five  or  six  passen- 
gers were  more  or  less  seriously  injured. 

The  worst  case  was  that  of  a  man  about  thirty 
years  old,  with  black  hair  and  side  whiskers,  broad 
forehead,  round  chin  sub-tinted  by  the  roots  of  a 
closely  shaven  beard,  and  eyebrows  pencilled  in 
strikingly  black  lines  across  his  pallid  face.  In 
dress  and  appearance  he  was  a  man  of  the  world, 
probably  a  prosperous  man  of  business;  but  no- 
body on  the  train  was  able  to  identify  him.  He 
was  taken  from  the  ruins  insensible,  with  a  bad 
gash  in  the  back  of  his  head,  and  a  broken  or  dis- 
located shoulder. 

Among  the  Camp  Creek  people  who  came 
quickly  to  the  spot  was  Miss  Lucy  Tilbury,  whose 


2  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

home  was  in  sight  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village. 
She  was  a  fresh-complexioned  blonde  of  about 
five-and-twenty,  delicate  and  nervous,  with  sympa- 
thies so  sensitive  that  often  at  the  sight  of  suffer- 
ing in  others  she  would  be  overcome  by  distressing 
faintness.  But  at  this  time  she  showed  extraor- 
dinary resolution,  proving  herself  one  of  those 
timid  and  shrinking  persons  who  unconsciously 
reserve  great  courage  for  great  emergencies.  She 
gave  help  where  help  was  most  needed,  and  find- 
inor  that  the  crushed  traveller  was  still  alive,  she 
directed  that  he  should  be  carried  to  her  father's 
house,  toward  which  she  led  the  way  in  haste  to 
get  things  in  readiness  for  his  reception. 

Mr.  George  Tilbury  was  a  cabinet-maker,  who 
had  been  compelled  to  leave  his  shop  by  some 
disease  affecting  the  heart.  His  wife  was  dead; 
Lucy  was  the  youngest  of  his  children,  and  the 
only  one  remaining  at  home.  He  had  a  little 
property,  but  not  enough  for  their  support;  and 
since  his  disablement  Lucy  had  put  her  accomplish- 
ments to  practical  use  by  giving  lessons  in  music. 
They  kept  no  servant,  the  father  himself  doing  the 
most  of  the  simple  housework  while  the  daughter 
was  engaged  with  her  pupils.  He  was  a  mild-man- 
nered, sweet-tempered  person,  with  a  low,  pleasant 
voice,  and  a  complexion  of  almost  as  delicate  a 
pink  as  her  own.  He  was  exceedingly  fond  and 
proud  of  her ;   and  so  entire  was  her  devotion  to 


THE  ACCIDENT  AT  CAMP  CREEK       3 

him  that  she  had  never  yet  found  a  niche  in  her 
heart  for  the  image  of  any  one  of  her  many 
admirers. 

It  was  into  this  home  that  the  bleeding  stranger 
was  borne  on  that  memorable  last  day  of  August; 
an  occasion  of  fright  and  horror  to  the  gentle- 
souled  George  Tilbury,  who  returned  from  his  after- 
noon walk  in  time  to  see  the  astonishing  procession 
enter  his  door.  But  in  his  eyes  Lucy  could  not  do 
anything  very  wrong,  and  on  learning  what  had 
happened,  he  said,  **  Of  course  !  of  course  !  You 
couldn't  have  done  less,  although"  — 

The  sight  of  the  tragic  object  on  the  dining- 
table,  where  the  village  doctors  had  ordered  the 
body  placed,  and  the  prospect  of  turning  his  quiet 
home  into  a  hospital  for  he  knew  not  how  long, 
appalled  the  poor  man,  but  he  repressed  the  ob- 
jections that  trembled  on  his  lips,  and  repeated 
meekly  and  fervently,  "  Of  course,  darling !  of 
course  !  " 

He  saw  his  house  become  a  hospital  indeed, 
with  himself  and  Lucy  the  chief  attendants.  For 
a  month  it  would  have  been  dangerous  for  the 
patient  to  be  moved,  and  after  that  they  did  not 
wish  him  to  be  moved.  They  hired  a  servant, 
and  employed  night  watchers  as  long  as  night 
watchers  were  needed.  The  piano  had  to  be 
silenced  for  a  while,  and  Lucy  dismissed  those 
pupils  who  came  to  the  house  for  lessons.     She 


4  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

still  kept  her  engagements  with  others  out  of  the 
house,  but  always  hastened  home  after  lessons  to 
relieve  her  father,  and  administer  with  her  own 
hands  to  the  wants  of  the  stranger. 

He  proved  to  be  Mortimer  Frenk,  a  broker  of 
Albany.  As  the  term  broker  has  a  wide  signifi- 
cance, and  may  comprehend  in  its  range  persons 
as  far  apart  as  a  pawnbroker  and  a  shipbroker, 
let  us  specify  that  his  line  of  business  was  "  buying 
and  selling  commercial  paper;  "  in  vulgar  phrase, 
note-shaving.  That  may  be  an  honorable  voca- 
tion, and  I  have  never  heard  question  as  to  his  hav- 
ing pursued  it  honorably.  He  had  commenced 
shaving  notes  in  a  small  way  while  yet  a  clerk  in 
the  office  which  he  had  entered  as  errand  boy, 
without  a  dollar,  hardly  a  dozen  years  ago.  He 
was  now  a  partner  in  the  business,  in  which,  if  the 
risks  were  considerable,  the  profits  were  propor- 
tionally large.  Unmarried,  social,  elegant,  with 
engaging  manners  and  warm  impulses,  — such  was 
Mortimer  Frenk. 

That  enterprising  spirit  and  handsome  person 
of  his  had  met  with  a  narrow  escape  at  Camp 
Creek;  but  surgical  skill  and  good  nursing 
brought  him  through.  His  partner,  Furbush,  ran 
up  from  Albany  to  see  him,  and  in  due  time  his 
lawyer  paid  him  a  visit. 


THE   LAWYER   AND    THE   LADY 


II 

THE    LAWYER    AND   THE   LADY 

Only  the  shades  of  hovering  death  could  dim 
Mortimer  Frenk's  keen  eye  for  business ;  and  no 
sooner  had  they  cleared  away  a  little  than  he 
began  to  look  very  steadily  at  the  question  of 
damages.  Maimed  for  life,  probably;  weeks  of 
mental  and  physical  agony;  enormous  pecuniary 
losses,  in  consequence  of  his  absence  from  busi- 
ness at  an  important  crisis  (for  it  was  in  the  panic 
times  of  '57),  —  this  was  the  side  which  he  wished 
his  lawyer  to  present  strongly  to  the  railroad  cor- 
poration responsible  for  the  accident,  fixing  his 
claim  at  the  moderate  sum,  as  he  termed  it,  of 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars. 

"  I'm  afraid  the  company  will  not  consider  it 
moderate,"  observed  the  lawyer,  with  a  smile. 
"  However,  it  is  well  enough  to  start  with  a  good 
stiff  claim." 

''  You  don't  think  it  too  much?  " 

Frenk  was  lying,  propped  with  pillows,  in  the 
bedroom  which  had  been  George  Tilbury's  before 
he  gave  it  up  to  his  guest;  and  as  he  put  the 
question  he  levelled  at  his  visitor  a  sharp  glance 
from  under  his  fine  black  eyebrows. 

It  was  a  plain,  sensible,  gray-shaven,  quiet  face 


6  A   QUESTION   OF  DAMAGES 

that  answered  him,  with  a  shrewdly  humorous  ex- 
pression : 

"No;  not  if  you  can  get  it.  But  I  trust  you 
can't." 

**  How  so?  "  said  Mortimer  Frenk. 

'*  Because  to  scoop  in  that  amount  of  damages, 
your  case  must  be  about  as  bad  as  you  make  it 
out,  which  I  trust  it  isn't.  I  don't  beHeve  you  are 
going  to  be  maimed  for  Hfe,  Mortimer.  And 
maybe  the  bad  times  will  turn  out  to  be  better 
for  your  business  than  good  times." 

*'  You  talk  like  a  lawyer  on  the  other  side," 
said  Frenk,  with  a  shade  of  dissatisfaction. 

*'  Very  likely  —  to  you.  But  to  opposing  coun- 
sel I  don't  suppose  I  should  talk  in  just  that  way. 
It's  well  enough  for  you  and  me  to  be  frank  with 
each  other,  and  see  what  we  really  have  to  build  a 
case  on." 

*'  That's  just  what  I  want.  But  taking  even 
your  hopeful  view  of  my  condition,  would  you, 
Mr.  Bradwaite,  or  would  any  other  sane  man,  be 
willing  to  go  through  what  I  have  gone  through, 
the  risk  and  suffering,  to  say  nothing  of  money 
losses,  for  a  paltry  twenty-five  thousand  ?  No,  you 
wouldn't." 

**  No,  I  wouldn't,"  replied  the  lawyer,  with  a 
business-like  quietness  of  tone  contrasting  with  the 
other's  vehemence.  **  That  is  true ;  and  we  will  do 
our  level  best  to  get  that  trifling  compensation  of 


THE   LAWYER   AND   THE   LADY  *J 

twenty-five  thousand,  or  as  much  of  it  as  we  can. 
It  will  not  be  a  farthing  too  much  —  for  us.  But 
the  company  may  think  it  a  vast  deal  too  much  - — 
for  them.  We  put  out  our  hand  and  say,  per- 
suasively, '  Gentlemen,  twenty-five  thousand,  if 
you  please.'  They  will  make  a  motion  of  putting 
hand  to  pocket  and  reply,  '  One  thousand,  if  you 
please.' " 

"  One  thousand  !  "  ejaculated  the  maimed-for- 
life  Mortimer,  with  scowling  scorn. 

"  It  is  contemptible,"  said  Mr.  Bradwaite,  keep- 
ing his  quiet  tone  and  pleasantly  humorous 
manner.  "  But  that  is  their  side.  As  it  is  our 
policy  to  sing  large,  it  is  theirs  to  sing  small.  We 
will  induce  them  to  raise  their  notes  by  and  by. 
Now,  this  is  what  we  are  coming  at.  What  is  the 
figure  we  must  screw  them  up  to,  or  fight?  " 

''Twenty  thousand,"  said  the  broker. 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head. 

*'  Fifteen  thousand,"  said  Frenk. 

Bradwaite  shrugged  and  smiled. 

*'  Twelve  thousand,  and  not  a  cent  less." 

**  We  will  try  for  that,"  replied  Bradwaite.  ''  But 
we  shall  be  lucky  if  we  get  half  of  it.  A  jury 
might  give  us  more,  if  we  could  go  to  a  jury  now. 
But  before  we  can  proceed  so  far,  you  will  be 
about  your  business,  a  well  man." 

"  Possibly,"  said  Frenk,  admiring  his  counsel's 
good  sense,  while  irritated  by  his  lack  of  enthusi- 


8  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

asm.     "  For  that  reason  I  think  we  ought  to  press 
for  a  settlement  now." 

**  Precisely.  Make  the  most  of  the  romance 
and  pathos  of  our  side,  while  they  are  in  full 
bloom.  But  we  mustn't  put  up  our  wall  too  high 
for  the  other  side  to  see  over.  Twelve  thousand  ! 
I'm  afraid  they  won't  even  try  to  straddle  that." 

Mortimer's  eyes  sparkled,  his  lips  (they  were 
rather  handsome  lips)  quivered  with  impatience. 

"  I  suppose  I  don't  know  anything  about  busi- 
ness, lying  here  on  a  sick-bed.  I've  been  dream- 
ing. You  wake  me  from  my  dream  with  a  dash 
of  cold  water.  But  no  doubt  you  are  right.  Do 
the  best  you  can.      I  leave  everything  to  you." 

"  Perhaps  that  will  be  as  well,"  said  the  im- 
passive lawyer. 

He  waited  to  see  the  attending  physician,  and 
in  the  meantime  talked  freely  with  Lucy  and  her 
father,  curious  perhaps  to  know  what  sort  of  wit- 
nesses they  would  be  if  called  in  court.  Mr.  Til- 
bury thought  him  one  of  the  fairest  and  most 
honorable  men  he  had  ever  met.  But  to  Lucy, 
her  sympathies  all  excited  in  behalf  of  him  whom 
she  had  helped  to  save  from  death,  whose  suffer- 
ings and  sweet  patience,  and  still  sweeter  grateful- 
ness, made  him  almost  an  object  of  worship  in  her 
eyes,  a  hero  of  romance, — to  her  the  lawyer,  in 
speaking  of  his  terrible  hurts  and  their  probable 
consequences,  betrayed  a  deplorable  want  of  heart. 


THE   LADY   AND   THE   LETTER 


III 

THE    LADY   AND   THE    LETTER 

Mortimer  Frexk  could  not  be  Insensible  to  the 
devotion  with  which  he  had  Inspired  so  guileless 
and  charming  a  girl.  It  troubled  him  a  little, 
perhaps,  when  he  thought  of  another  girl  whom 
he  had  lately  deemed  hardly  less  charming,  If  not 
quite  so  guileless,  —  the  beautiful  and  bewitching 
Helen  Wilde,  of  Troy.  He  was  not  always  worry- 
ing about  business  matters  when  Lucy  detected  a 
certain  absent  and  disturbed  look  in  his  expressive 
hazel  eyes;  he  was  sometimes  wondering  just  how 
far  he  had  committed  himself  with  Helen,  and 
whether  he  could  honorably  sever  that  connection. 

He  did  not  mean  to  wrong  anybody;  but  he 
began  to  fear  he  had  wronged  himself  In  giving 
Miss  Wilde  so  strong  a  hold  upon  him.  Daily  her 
image  faded  and  grew  faint,  while  that  of  Lucy 
burned  itself  into  his  soul,  or  what  he  would  have 
called  his  soul,  the  sphere  at  all  events  of  fancy  and 
vanity  and  passion.  In  his  convalescence  the  new 
love  was  an  elixir  of  new  life  to  him  ;  and  the  time 
came  when  the  old  love  and  the  old  life,  with  all 
their  obligations,  were  to  be  forgotten  in  the  de- 
lirium of  his  present  intoxication. 

They  had  got  to  be  on  familiar  and  even  affec- 


lO  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

tionate  terms,  when  one  morning  she  brought  him 
his  letters.  There  was  one  from  his  partner,  and 
one  from  his  lawyer,  and  one  superscribed  in  a 
pretty  feminine  hand,  which  he  quickly  slipped  out 
of  sight.  It  was  not  the  first  time  her  curiosity  had 
been  piqued  by  that  handwriting. 

*'If  I  were  not  in  the  room,"  she  said,  with  a 
laugh  on  her  lips,  but  with  a  pang  at  her  heart, 
"  you  would  read  her  letter  first." 

The  serious  tenderness  in  her  glistening  eyes, 
veiled  by  sweet  pleasantry,  became  her  exceed- 
ingly.    He  devoured  her  with  his  ardent  gaze. 

"  I  could  never  wish  to  read  any  woman's  letter 
with  you  in  the  room,  Lucy !  " 

The  significance  which  his  tone  and  manner  im- 
parted to  these  words  gave  her  a  delicious  thrill. 
But  she  pretended  not  to  understand  him. 

*' Oh,  then,  if  I  am  in  your  way,  I'll  leave  you." 

As  she  was  turning  to  go  he  put  out  his  hand 
to  her  from  the  lounge  where  he  reclined. 

"  Don't,  don't  go  !  "  Somehow  their  hands  met ; 
he  clasped  hers.  *'  You  can  never  be  in  my  way, 
Lucy.  No  other  woman  —  all  the  women  in  the 
world  can  never  be  to  me  what  you  are." 

He  drew  her  gently  down  to  him ;  she  resisting, 
and  trying  to  speak  as  if  his  words  had  not  flooded 
her  with  happiness. 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  to  me  while  you  are  re- 
ceiving  letters  from  her?  " 


THE    LADY   AND   THE   LETTER  II 

"Jealous?"  said  Mortimer  Frenk  with  a  fond 
laugh.  **  That's  delightful;  that  shows  that  you 
care  for  me  a  little." 

"  I  care  for  you  a  great  deal !  "     Having  vainly 
endeavored  to  free  her  hands,  she  dropped  on  her 
knees  beside  the  lounge,  and  talked  with  her  rosy 
face  almost  too  dangerously  near  to  his.     "  Haven't 
I  shown  that  I  do?     But  I  have  no  right  to  be 
jealous.     If  I  had  I  should  ask  you  all  about  her. 
First  her  name  "  — 
"  Her  name  is  Helen." 
**  And  where  does  she  live  ?  " 
**  She  lives  in  Troy." 

'*  Helen  of  Troy  !  "  laughed  Lucy.  "  That  is 
interesting.  Now,  if  I  had  the  right  I  should  want 
to  know  just  how  much  you  love  her.  Oh,  all 
about  it,  if  it  killed  me." 

"  It  won't  kill  you,"  said  he,  ''  if  I  tell  you  that  I 
don't  love  her  a  hundredth  part  as  well  as  I  thought 
I  did  before  I  saw  you." 

"  But  you  have  loved  her?  " 
-AHttle." 
''Engaged?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  it  never  got  so  far  as  that,"  said 
Mortimer  Frenk,  trying  to  believe  at  the  moment 
that  he  was  speaking  the  truth.  "  A  little  flirtation. 
But  you  have  cured  me  of  that !  " 

*'  Which  means  that  you  are  now  having  a  little 
flirtation  with  me;  that  you  find  me  amusing  just 
now." 


12  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

She  strove  to  free  herself  again,  but  he  held  her 
fast.  Helen  of  Troy  was  as  much  a  phantom  of  the 
past  as  her  classical  namesake  at  that  moment.  In 
her  place  was  this  thrilled  and  palpitating  creature, 
all  love  and  lovehness,  kneeling  beside  him,  her 
dewy  lips  close  to  his,  her  breath  on  his  cheek. 
He  drew  her  nearer  still,  she  no  longer  resisting. 


*'IT   WAS    MY   fate!  "  1 3 


IV 

"  IT   WAS   MY   FATE  !  " 

From  the  rapture  to  which  he  had  yielded  in 
this  interview,  Mortimer  Frenk  was  awakened  to 
a  consciousness  of  unpleasant  complications  when 
he  came  to  read  Helen's  letter.  Pricks  of  con- 
science, along  with  half-sweet,  half-painful  stirrings 
of  the  old  love,  disturbed  his  present  content,  and 
made  him  curse  his  impulsiveness  and  indiscretion. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  the  Father  of  Lies  shall 
I  write  to  her?"  was  the  question  he  put  to  his 
vexed  soul,  which  his  vexed  soul  could  not  answer. 
**  Luckily,  I've  a  good  excuse  just  now  for  not 
WTiting.     I'll  take  time  and  think  it  over." 

The  more  time  he  took  the  more  easy  grew  his 
conscience,  and  the  less  necessity  he  felt  of  writ- 
ing at  all. 

''  It  never  was  exactly  an  engagement,"  he  ex- 
plained to  himself.  "  Even  if  it  had  been,  I  should 
have  felt  obliged  to  break  it,  after  seeing  one  who 
is  so  much  more  to  me  than  s/ie  could  ever  be  — 
who  has  done  so  much  more  for  me  than  a  girl 
like  Helen  Wilde  would  ever  do  !  Why  didn't  she 
fly  to  me  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  my  accident? 
That's  what  Lucy  would  have  done ;  the  wings  of 
the  wind  would  have  been  too  slow  for  her  !      She 


14  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

has  her  own  pride  and  selfishness  to  blame  for  the 
result.  It's  something  /  couldn't  help.  It  was  my 
fate." 

So  he  destroyed  the  letter,  as  he  had  already 
destroyed  the  previous  ones  from  the  same  writer, 
and  tried  to  forget  it.  And  when  Lucy,  who  could 
not  forget  it,  asked  him  about  it  afterward,  less 
from  jealousy  than  tender  concern  for  one  who  had 
perhaps  loved  the  man  she  loved,  he  answered 
lightly : 

"No,  I  haven't  replied  to  it  yet;  there  really 
wasn't  much  to  reply  to.  Expressions  of  sympa- 
thy, hope  for  my  recovery,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
I  shall  write  and  thank  her  sometime." 

*'  I  don't  see  how  she  could  help  thinking  a 
great  deal  more  of  you  than  you  are  willing  to 
admit,"   said  the  admiring  Lucy. 

"  You  judge  her  by  yourself,"  said  the  flattered 
Mortimer.  "  But  she  belongs  to  a  different  order 
of  the  Lord's  creatures.  It  isn't  in  her  to  think 
more  than  one-tenth  part  as  much  of  any  man  as 
she  thinks  of  her  own  precious  self.  It  was  but  a 
stingy  little  bit  of  her  heart  she  gave  me ;  she  had 
given  as  much  to  a  dozen  men  before,  and  she  will 
make  a  transfer  of  the  same  to  the  next  who  comes 
along.  In  fact,  she  has  probably  done  it  before 
this." 

''  Have  you  her  picture?"  Lucy  inquired,  not 
quite  satisfied. 


"IT   WAS    MY   fate!  "  1 5 

"  I  don't  know  —  I  think  so.  I  really  haven't 
looked  since  my  accident."  He  opened  his  pocket- 
book.  *' Ah  !  here's  the  lady!"  drawing  out  a 
card  photograph  with  his  well  hand.  '*  There's 
your  Helen  of  Troy." 

Lucy's  eyes  grew  intensely  earnest  as  she  stud- 
ied it. 

*'  She  is  beautiful !  "  she  said  in  a  tone  scarcely 
above  a  whisper.  "  Mortimer,"  turning  a  troubled 
look  on  him,  '*  you  must  have  loved  her  !  " 

"  She's  a  girl  to  be  admired,  not  loved,"  he  an- 
swered carelessly.  "  There  never  was  much  be- 
tween us,  and  that  is  all  over  now  that  I  have 
you. 

"  But  you  will  return  her  picture?  " 

*'  No,  indeed !  That  w^ould  be  making  too 
serious  a  thing  of  it." 

"  She  has  yours?  " 

"Yes,  just  as  twenty  other  of  my  lady  friends 
have.  That's  nothing.  Everybody  exchanges 
photographs  nowadays." 

A  smile  stole  into  Lucy's  troubled  face.  "  I 
want  you  all  to  myself!  "  she  said,  avariciously. 
"  But  you  mustn't  make  anybody  else  unhappy." 

"  No  danger  of  that !  "  he  replied,  and  lightly 
turned  the  conversation  to  his  question  of  damages. 
"  Do  you  know  why  I  am  so  anxious  to  get  a  large 
sum,  and  to  get  it  now?  It  is  to  make  you  a  wed- 
ding present  of  it ;   to  show  my  gratitude ;   to  pay 


l6  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

the  most  sacred  debt  of  my  life.  If  I  could  get  a 
hundred  thousand  instead  of  the  ten  or  twelve  I 
expect,  it  should  all  be  yours,  in  your  own  right." 

''  Oh,  how  good  you  are  !  But  you  know,  Mor- 
timer, I  do  not  want  anything,  except  for  your 
sake  and  my  father's." 

It  had  already  been  agreed  between  them  that 
her  father's  home  should  be  with  them.  Mr. 
Tilbury  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  Mortimer,  and 
rejoicing  in  his  daughter's  happiness,  he  approved 
of  all  their  plans.  She  had  given  up  the  last  of 
her  pupils,  and  it  was  arranged  that  the  wedding 
should  take  place  early  in  the  spring.  Then  Mor- 
timer left  her  to  prepare  for  it,  and  with  his  arm 
in  a  shng  set  off  one  December  morning  to  return 
to  his  long-neglected  business. 

And  now  for  the  pain  of  separation  Lucy  found 
exquisite  solace  in  his  letters.  It  was  joy  to  antic- 
ipate them,  and  even  livelier  joy  to  receive  and 
read  and  reread  them,  and  still  return  to  them 
long  after  she  knew  every  word  in  each  by  heart. 
Parts  of  them  she  read  to  her  father,  whom  she 
made  her  confidant  in  all  except  the  precious 
postscripts,  meant  only  for  her  eye ;  and  many  a 
long  winter  evening  they  sat  talking  over  these 
delightful  matters  and  the  graces  and  virtues  of 
the  writer. 

They  retained  their  servant,  and  now  dress- 
maker and  seamstress  were    busy  in    the  house. 


''IT   WAS    MY   fate!  "  17 

Although  Mortimer  had  not  yet  made  Lucy  the 
promised  wedding  present,  for  the  reason  that  the 
raihoad  people  couldn't  be  brought  to  a  satisfac- 
tory settlement,  she  spared  no  expense  out  of  her 
father's  savings  and  her  own  small  earnings  in  pre- 
paring for  the  happy  change. 

So  things  went  on  till  March.  Mortimer  had 
written  every  day  at  first ;  then  two  or  three  times 
a  week;  then  only  on  Sunday;  and  at  last  even  his 
Sunday  letter  failed  to  come.  Still,  in  reading 
over  those  of  the  last  month,  Lucy  would  not 
admit  to  herself  that  they  betrayed  any  falling  off 
in  affectionateness,  and  she  excused  his  silence  on 
the  ground  of  overwork  and  want  of  time,  of  which 
he  often  complained. 

She  feared  he  might  be  ill,  and,  continuing  to 
write  with  unabated  faith  and  devotion,  inquired 
anxiously  for  his  health,  telling  him  at  length 
that  she  would  certainly  go  to  him  if  she  did  not 
hear  from  him  soon.  Then  —  it  was  the  third 
week  of  that  dreadful  silence  —  he  wrote  briefly, 
saying  that  he  had  been  ill,  but  was  better;  that 
he  had  been  sadly  harassed  in  his  affairs,  and  that 
he  feared  the  wedding  could  not  take  place  so  soon 
as  they  had  planned. 

Then  silence  again  on  the  part  of  Mortimer 
Frenk. 


1 8  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 


V 

"SICK,    OR  DEAD,    OR    A  DEVIL?" 

One  day  in  June  a  man  of  delicate  complexion 
and  diffident  manners  entered  the  office  of  Jay 
Bradwaite,  in  Albany. 

"  I  see  you  don't  remember  me,"  he  said  with 
a  feeble  and  anxious  smile,  as  the  lawyer  looked 
up  from  his  desk. 

''  I  ought  to;  your  face  is  familiar,"  Bradwaite 
replied,  dividing  his  attention  between  his  papers 
and  his  visitor. 

"  I  am  from  Camp  Creek,"  said  the  man  in  a 
soft,  almost  tremulous  voice. 

Thereupon  the  lawyer  turned  from  his  papers 
abruptly    and    gave    George    Tilbury    a    friendly 

hand. 

"  I  remember  you  very  well  indeed  !  Sit  down. 
How  are  you?  and  how  is  Miss  Tilbury?  She  has 
been  in  my  mind  lately." 

Perceiving  the  man's  embarrassment,  which 
arose  partly  from  diffidence,  but  still  more  from 
some  strong  emotion  he  was  endeavoring  to  con- 
trol, Bradwaite  talked  and  reassured  him. 

''  My  daughter  —  is  not  well,"  faltered  the  visi- 
tor, settling  himself  in  a  chair  and  holding  the 
arms  nervously  with  his  restless  hands. 


•'SICK,    OR   DEAD,    OR   A   DEVIL?"  I9 

The  lawyer's  gray-shaven  face  expressed  sym- 
pathy.     **  Nothing  serious,  I  hope?  " 

'*  I  hope  not.  She  may  —  recover  her  health 
and  spirits."  Occasionally  something  came  up  in 
the  speaker's  throat  and  interrupted  his  sentences. 
But  he  went  on  manfully:  "It  is  on  her  account 
I  —  have  come  to  see  you,  Mr.  Bradwaite." 

"  It  will  give  me  great  satisfaction  to  do  any- 
thing for  you  or  your  daughter.  From  what  I 
have  seen  and  known  of  you,"  the  lawyer  added, 
his  fine,  metallic  tone  of  voice  striking  a  key  below 
that  of  mere  compliment,  "  I  have  great  respect  for 
you  both." 

''  Thank  you,"  said  Tilbury,  taking  a  long  breath. 
"  It  is  your  personal,  not  your  professional,  advice 
I  want.  From  what  I  saw  of  you  at  our  house,  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  you  were  a  fair  and  honor- 
able man,  although  a  lawyer." 

**  'Although  a  lawyer'  is  good,"  said  Bradwaite 
with  a  smile. 

•'  Beg  pardon ;  I  meant  no  offence.  What  struck 
me  was  that  you  were  not  like  many  lawyers ;  that 
you  were  a  man  before  you  were  a  lawyer,  and  a 
man  all  the  time." 

"  I  trust  you  will  never  have  cause  to  think  your- 
self mistaken,"  was  the  other's  dry  comment. 

*'  I  trust  so.  I  have  been  mistaken  —  some- 
times." (The  catch  in  the  throat  again.)  "  Per- 
haps you  can  guess  what  brings  me  to  you." 


20  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

'*  I  suspect." 

"  I  come  for  information.  May  I  ask  if  you  are 
aware  that  Mr.  Frenk  engaged  himself  to  —  marry 
my  daughter?  " 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  said  the  lawyer,  without 
betraying  the  least  surprise.  *'  Yet  I  judged  from 
what  I  saw  at  Camp  Creek  that  an  attachment  was 
likely  to  spring  up  between  them." 

**  They  were  to  be  married  in  April.  She  never 
cared  for  any  man  before.  She  had  given  up  some 
of  her  pupils  in  music  to  assist  me  in  taking  care 
of  him  ;  and  then  she  gave  up  the  rest  to  get  ready 
for  the  wedding.  But  all  at  once  his  letters  stopped 
coming.  He  said  in  his  last  he  feared  the  day 
would  have  to  be  put  off,  and  not  a  line  has  she 
had  from  him  since." 

**  How  long  ago?  " 

"  Something  more  than  five  weeks.  Lucy  has 
written  letter  after  letter  and  got  no  reply.  And 
I  "  —  after  a  sort  of  double  or  triple  catch  in  the 
throat  George  Tilbury  continued :  ''  I  was  begin- 
ning to  think  he  might  be  a  villain." 

*'  I  think  you  are  mistaken  there,"  said  the 
lawyer  impassively.  "  Mortimer  Frenk  is  not 
what  one  might  call  a  villain." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  it.  His  treatment  of 
my  poor  Lucy,  if  it  is  not  villany,  is  something 
very  strange,  to  say  the  least.  It  has  nearly  killed 
her  and  me  too.     I  couldn't  endure  to  see  her  in 


"SICK,    OR   DEAD,    OR   A   DEVIL?"  21 

such  distress,  and  I  said  at  last  I  would  run  down 
to  Albany  and  learn  if  he  was  sick,  or  dead,  or  a 
devil.  But  I  find  —  I  inquired  at  his  office  before 
coming  here  —  that  he  is  off  on  a  journey." 

The  lawyer  gave  a  nod  of  assent. 

''  I  couldn't  hear  when  he  would  come  back,  nor 
much  about  him.  There  seemed  to  be  some  mys- 
tery, something  covered  up.  And  so  I  —  I  came 
to  you  for  information,  as  I  said.  Being  his  lawyer^ 
I  thought  you  might  be  able  to  tell  me  some- 
thing." 

"  You  have  come  to  the  right  man,"  Bradwaite 
replied  quickly,  "  though  I  am  not  his  counsel." 

"  You  were  —  in  the  railroad  case?  " 

"  But  I  ami  not  now." 

"Then  that  is  settled?" 

George  Tilbury  remembered  what  had  been 
promised  Lucy  when  the  damages  should  be  paid, 
and  he  put  the  question  anxiously. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  Frenk  gave 
me  once  full  powers  to  settle,  but  afterwards  re- 
voked them  when  I  had  almost  committed  our  side 
to  a  compromise.  The  company  offered  $5,000, 
which  I  thought  liberal ;  but  after  I  had  got  them 
up  to  that  notch  he  backed  out  and  insisted  on 
$7,000,  and  so  I  threw  up  the  case.  He  has  since 
found  somebody  to  give  him  advice  which  I  would 
not  give,  much  as  it  might  have  been  for  my 
interest,  and  he  has  sued  for  $25,000." 


22  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

"  I  think  it  was  a  mistake,"  said  George  Tilbury. 
"  He  should  have  settled  it,  if  he  could  get  five, 
and  keep  it  out  of  the  courts." 

*'  Perhaps  he  will  think  so  himself  some  day.  But 
he  has  colossal  ideas  of  damages,"  said  Bradwaite 
with  a  smile.    **  May  I  ask  you  a  question  or  two?  " 

*'  I  shall  be  pleased  to  have  you." 

**  It  was  a  positive  engagement?  " 

"  Decidedly ;  fully  understood  and  talked  over 
by  him  and  Lucy  in  my  presence." 

"  Anything  about  it  in  those  letters?  " 

"The  first  few  were  full  of  it.  Even  the  last, 
as  I  said,  alluded  to  it,  in  saying  that  the  wedding 
might  have  to  be  postponed." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  exact  words  used,  in 
any  case  where  the  engagement  is  spoken  of 
directly,  or  implied?" 

"  Perhaps  not  the  precise  w^ords ;  but "  — 
George  Tilbury  hesitated,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
heart.     "  I  have  the  letters  here." 

**  That's  lucky  !  "  said  Jay  Bradwaite. 

''  They  were  taking  her  life  out  of  her.  She 
couldn't  let  them  alone,  and  she  couldn't  read 
them  over  again  without  suffering  terribly,  since 
he  "  —  George  Tilbury  swallowed  hard  at  some- 
thing, and  resumed  huskily :  "  At  last  I  got  her 
consent  to  let  me  take  the  letters  and  return  them 
to  Mr.  Frenk,  and  get  back  hers,  in  case  I  —  in 
case  I  could  get  no  better  satisfaction." 


**  SICK,    OR   DEAD,    OR   A    DEVIL?"  23 

"  And  you  brought  them  with  you  for  that 
purpose  ?  "  For  the  first  time  the  cool  attorney 
showed  surprise. 

*'  I  thought  it  the  best  thing  I  could  do." 

**  It's  the  most  foolish  thing  you  could  do. 
Lucky  you  didn't  find  Mr.  Mortimer  Frenk !  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  sir." 

'*  I'll  explain  myself.  Mr.  Mortimer  Frenk  has, 
as  I  said,  titanic  notions  of  damages.  Now,  it 
would  be  a  satisfaction  to  see  him  live  up  to  them. 
There  are  in  life  other  injuries  than  those  a  person 
may  receive  from  a  railroad  accident." 

"  Oh,  sir !  neither  Lucy  nor  I  would  ever  con- 
sent to  "  — 

'*  Never  mind  about  that.  Did  he  pay  you  for 
the  trouble  and  expense  you  incurred  in  taking 
care  of  him?  " 

*'  Never.  He  sometimes  spoke  of  it  and  said 
that  Lucy  should  have  what  he  got  from  the  rail- 
road company." 

"  Oh !  did  he !  "  There  was  sarcasm  in  the 
lawyer's  tones.  "  That  was  liberal.  But  I'm  afraid 
he'll  find  another  use  for  the  money  now.  He's 
married." 


24  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 


VI 

*'  JUSTICE   FOR   MY   POOR    LUCY  !  " 

^'Marr" —  gasped  George  Tilbury,  settling 
back  in   his  chair  with  a   stunned   look. 

'*  Yes,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Bradwaite  relentlessly. 
"Miss  Helen  Wilde,  of  Troy;  an  old  flame  of  his ; 
she's  the  fortunate  —  or  unfortunate  —  woman. 
Two  weeks  ago.  That's  the  reason  why  you 
couldn't  find  him ;  he's  off  on  a  little  wedding 
tour." 

"  My  poor  Lucy  !  "  murmured  the  stricken  father. 

"  I'm  glad  you  came  to  me,"  Bradwaite  went  on, 
with  a  steady,  quiet  glitter  in  his  gray  eyes.  "  And 
I'm  glad  I'm  not  his  counsel.  I'm  not  anxious  to 
be  yours,  either;  but  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of 
advice." 

George  Tilbury  answered  only  with  a  hopeless, 
helpless,  appealing  look. 

'*  Those  letters,"  added  the  lawyer,  throwing  out 
his  fingers  at  the  other's  breast  pocket,  *'  they  are 
worth  $15,000;  possibly  more,  certainly  not  less. 
And  I,"  with  a  sarcastic  laugh,  "  I  have  ridicu- 
lously small  ideas  of  damages  !  " 

*'  I  didn't  think  he  was  such  a  damned  scoun- 
drel !  "  said  George  Tilbury,  not  profanely,  nor 
revengefully,  but  in  a  desolate,  broken-hearted  way 


''JUSTICE   FOR   MY   POOR   LUCY  !  "  25 

pitiful  to  witness.  ''  I  wish  Lucy  was  with  her 
mother  in  heaven." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't,"  said  the  lawyer  cheeringly. 

**  No,  I  don't.  It  was  a  wicked  wish  to  wish  her 
dead.  But  now,  how  shall  I  tell  her?  I  never 
can.  Oh  !  if  she  and  I  could  both  be  carried  to 
our  quiet  graves  to-morrow  !  " 

Mr.  Jay  Bradwaite  winked  the  moisture  from  his 
own  eyes  at  sight  of  the  man's  emotion,  cleared  his 
throat,  and  resumed : 

*'  It's  bad  enough,  no  doubt;  but  it  isn't  so  bad 
as  that.     You  are  tolerably  well  off  ?" 

**  No,"  said  George  Tilbury,  "  I  am  a  poor  man. 
A  cabinet-maker  by  trade.  I  could  always  get  a 
good  living  when  I  was  able  to  work.  But  I've  had 
a  heart  trouble  for  three  or  four  years.  Since  then 
Lucy  has  supported  the  house  by  teaching  the 
piano." 

''  And  she  has  given  up  all  her  pupils,  you  say. 
And  now,"  proceeded  the  lawyer,  watching  his 
visitor  carefully,  "  it  will  be  hard  for  you  to  see 
her  go  back  to  those  lessons." 

A  look  of  abject  misery  was  the  only  response. 

'*  For  her  sake  —  I  am  not  talking  now  as  a 
lawyer,  but  as  a  friend  —  for  her  sake  take  care 
how  you  put  those  letters  into  the  hands  of  Mor- 
timer Frenk.  Put  them  rather  into  the  hands  of 
some  good  lawyer  you  know.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  flagrant  cases  that  ever  came  under  my  ob- 


26  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

servation.  I  should  like  to  see  the  wrong  righted 
as  much  as  the  law  can  right  it,  simply  as  a  man. 
If  I  were  her  father  I  hardly  know  how  I  should 
feel.  Certainly,  putting  all  notions  of  false  delicacy 
aside,  I  should  want  to  see  her  recompensed  in 
some  way  for  what  she  has  suffered  —  relieved  from 
the  necessity  of  the  daily  lessons,  and  from  the 
prospect  of  poverty  in  the  future." 

''  I  doubt  if  she  will  ever  be  able  to  resume  her 
lessons." 

''  Then  see  where  you  will  be.  I  know  it  must 
be  repugnant  to  your  feelings  to  think  of  making 
a  profit  out  of  her  blighted  affections.  But  it  is 
not  a  matter  of  profit.  It  is  a  matter  of  justice,  of 
daily  bread,  health,  and  life  of  which  this  man  of 
double  engagements  has  deprived  her.  Why,  sir, 
I  have  positive  knowledge  that  he  was  engaged  to 
this  Helen  Wilde,  whom  he  has  married,  all  the 
while  he  was  making  love  to  your  daughter." 

George  Tilbury  sat  silent  a  moment,  fumblingly 
buttoning  and  unbuttoning  his  coat  over  the  letters 
in  his  pocket.  Bradwaite  waited  for  the  effect  of 
his  words. 

*'  What  you  say  is  just,"  the  cabinet-maker  said 
at  length.  *'  I  am  satisfied  that  Lucy  will  never 
marry,  after  this.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  her 
wearing  her  life  out  trying  to  support  herself  and 
me.  Perhaps  —  I  don't  know — maybe  I  ought 
to  do  something.       If  I  could  put  the  case  into 


''JUSTICE   FOR   MY   POOR   LUCY  !  "  2/ 

your  hands  "  —  .  He  paused,  regarding  the  lawyer 
anxiously. 

*'  After  advising  you  as  I  have  done,  I  should 
prefer  to  have  you  employ  other  counsel,"  said 
Bradwaite. 

"  I  couldn't  tell  her  story  and  make  my  com- 
plaint to  anybody  else,"  Tilbury  replied,  shrinking 
with  pain  at  the  thought. 

"Very  well;  I  undertake  it.  Give  me  those 
letters." 

"Can  I?     Must  I?" 

"  It  will  be  best.  Of  course  I  shall  make  no 
unjustifiable  use  of  them." 

"  Engaged  to  that  other  all  the  while  he  was 
winning  my  girl's  affections  !  Promising  to  make 
her  a  present  of  what  he  got  from  the  company, 
perhaps  to  avoid  meeting  his  obligations !  I 
wouldn't  have  believed  it !  " 

The  miserable  man  mused  a  moment,  then  took 
a  package  from  his  pocket. 

"I  don't  know  what  my  girl  will  say,  but  I  trust 
you,  Mr.  Bradwaite.  Get  justice  for  my  poor 
Lucy  if  you  can  —  but  —  excuse  me  —  I  am  not 
well.     Oh,   my  poor,  dear  girl !  " 

He  attempted  to  rise,  but  gasped  and  reeled 
and  slid  dowm  in  his  chair.  Bradwaite  caught  the 
package  of  letters  as  it  was  falling  from  the  re- 
laxed hand.  He  saw  that  it  was  no  ordinary  faint- 
ness  that  had  come  over  the  unhappy  man  and, 


28  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

remembered  with  alarm  what  he  had  just  said  of 
the  trouble  with  his  heart.  Lifting  him  to  the 
ofhce  lounge,  he  stretched  him  upon  it,  limp  and 
quivering  with  a  faint  convulsion,  then  sprang  to 
the  door  and  summoned  help. 


BRADWAITE   HAS   THOSE   LETTERS"  29 


VII 

''BRADWAITE    HAS   THOSE   LETTERS" 

No,  Mortimer  Frenk  was  not  precisely  a  villain, 
whatever  his  conduct  may  have  made  him  appear. 
He  would  not  have  answered  at  all  to  sit  for  that 
character  in  a  highly-wrought  drama  or  novel.  If 
lacking  in  moral  principle,  he  was  likewise  void  of 
malice.  If  selfish,  he  was  not  without  traits  of 
generosity  —  at  once  calculating  and  impulsive. 

As  he  had  put  off  writing  to  Helen  of  Troy 
when  under  Lucy's  influence,  so  he  had  shrunk 
from  the  still  more  humiliating  task  of  confess- 
ing the  truth  to  Lucy  after  he  had  fallen  once 
more  under  the  dominion  of  the  old  love.  He 
may  have  perceived  in  a  general  way  that  in  this, 
as  in  other  affairs  of  life,  honesty  was  the  best 
policy;  but  he  couldn't  resolve  to  practise  it,  so 
much  easier  it  seemed  to  let  things  drift.  He 
would  have  said  that  he  dreaded  giving  Lucy  pain, 
which  was,  no  doubt,  true;  but  it  was  equally  true 
that  he  dreaded  giving  himself  pain.  In  shirking 
heroic  duties,  it  is  vastly  convenient  sometimes  to 
flatter  ourselves  that  we  are  benevolently  sparing 
the  feehngs  of  others,  while  the  odds  are  that  it  is 
simply  our  own  weakness  we  are  indulging- 

So  things  drifted  until,  returning  with  his  bride 


30  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

from  their  wedding  trip,  he  heard  of  the  death  of 
Lucy's  father  in  Mr.  Jay  Bradwaite's  office.  That 
tragic  circumstance  caused  some  talk  in  Albany 
circles,  and  gave  a  wholesome  shock  to  his  pro- 
crastinating conscience.  Perhaps  a  suspicion  of 
what  might  have  been  her  father's  business  with 
the  lawyer  had  something  to  do  with  quickening 
Mortimer  Frenk's  resolution.  He  longed  to  have  a 
few  words  with  his  former  counsel  on  the  delicate 
subject,  but  couldn't  make  up  his  mind  to  seek  an 
interview  that  might  prove  more  embarrassing 
than  satisfactory.  After  spoiling  a  good  many 
sheets  of  note-paper,  he  managed  to  evolve  from  a 
chaos  of  doubts  and  qualms  and  confused  motives 
a  tolerably  straightforward  letter : 

'*  Lucy,  I  am  a  weak  mortal,  but  not  quite  the 
heartless  ingrate  circumstances  must  have  made 
me  seem  in  your  eyes.  If  I  could  explain  all, 
then  you  would  surely  forgive  what  you  must 
otherwise  consider  my  unpardonable  conduct.  I 
never  meant  to  deceive  you,  Lucy,  or  wrong  you 
in  any  way ;  I  would  rather,  far  rather,  have  per- 
ished in  that  accident  from  which  you  helped  to 
save  me  than  harm  so  much  as  a  hair  of  your 
head.  In  all  my  vows  and  promises  to  you  I  was 
the  soul  of  sincerity,  believing  myself  at  the  time 
free  from  a  certain  other  claim  of  which  you  knew 
something.     But  too  late  I  found  myself  mistaken, 


"  BRADWAITE   HAS   THOSE   LETTERS  "  3  I 

and  then,  when  I  ought  to  have  told  you  every- 
thing, and  flung  myself  for  mercy  at  your  feet,  I 
delayed,  because  I  could  not  bear  to  grieve  you, 
and  hoped  time  would  help  you  to  forget,  though 
/  can  never  forget,  what  I  owe  to  you  and  your 
noble  father,  whom  I  hardly  dare  mention,  for  fear 
of  opening  fresh  wounds  in  your  heart.  Can  you 
ever  forgive  me?  No,  I  cannot  hope  it.  I  do  not 
deserve  that  you  should.  I  would  gladly  give  my 
life  at  this  moment  to  atone  for  the  past,  but  that 
cannot  be.  If  money  would  atone,  how  willingly 
would  I  give  all  I  possess  !  But  that  would  not  be 
much.  I  have  met  with  heavy  losses  in  my  busi- 
ness, and  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  bring  the 
railroad  company  to  a  settlement,  and  don't  know 
now  that  I  ever  shall.  It  may  seem  a  mockery  to 
you,  but  it  is  a  relief  to  me,  to  send  you  a  trifle 
towards  the  discharge  of  pecuniary  obligations. 
Enclosed  please  find  my  check  for  five  hundred 
dollars  ($500).  And  if  you  will  write  me  one 
kind  word  and  return  my  letters,  I  will  send  you 
yours,  or  destroy  them  if  you  wish,  and  remain 
"  Your  grateful,  unhappy 

'*  Mortimer." 

Frenk  was  well  satisfied  with  this  composition, 
on  reading  it  over  carefully  and  dotting  the  i's. 
He  was,  however,  a  little  afraid  that  he  hadn't 
touched  in  the  unhappy  strokes  and  the  poverty 


32  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

business  quite  strongly  enough ;  and  perhaps  a 
check  for  four  hundred  would  have  answered 
every  purpose.  But  he  was  getting  tired  of  dotting 
and  copying ;  and  he  concluded  it  was  better  to 
err  on  the  safe  side,  both  as  to  the  money  he 
proffered  and  the  misery  he  professed.  For  a  man 
in  his  honeymoon  to  lay  himself  out  in  too  melan- 
choly a  fashion  at  the  feet  of  a  girl  he  had  jilted 
might  seem  a  trifle  ridiculous.  He  hoped  that  the 
note  and  its  contents  would  serve  to  soothe  Lucy's 
sorrow.  If  he  could  have  read  his  own  heart  he 
would  have  found  himself  hoping  still  more  ear- 
nestly that  it  would  restore  him  to  her  esteem ; 
while  under  all  lurked  his  chief  motive  in  writing 
—  the  wish  that  it  might  move  her  to  send 
back  his  letters.  As  for  her  letters  —  well, 
he  would  trust  to  luck  that  she  would  reply, 
*'  Destroy  them,"  since  he  had  already  taken  a 
married  man's  precaution  in  committing  them  to 
the  flames. 

It  was  now  his  turn  to  wait  anxiously  for  an 
answer.  Weeks  passed  and  none  came.  There 
was  no  news  of  the  check  at  his  bank  either,  and 
this  was  an  added  cause  of  solicitude.  He  met  Jay 
Bradwaite  occasionally  on  the  street,  but  as  that 
gentleman  did  not  seem  inclined  to  have  any  talk 
with  him,  he  merely  returned  his  salutation  and 
passed  on,  with  polite  smiles  concealing  his  tortures 
of  suspense.     Meanwhile  Albany  society  regarded 


''BRADWAITE   HAS   THOSE   LETTERS"  33 

the  handsome  husband  of  the  fair  Helen  as  the 
most  enviable  of  men. 

At  last,  when  he  had  almost  ceased  to  look  for 
it,  he  spied  in  the  morning's  mail  on  his  desk  an 
envelope  superscribed  in  the  remembered  grace- 
ful hand,  though  somewhat  feeble  and  wavering, 
and  opened  it  eagerly.  The  first  thing  that  caught 
his  eye  was  his  own  neatly  folded  $500  check. 
With  this  was  a  brief  note,  as  follows : 

"  It  was  a  long  while  before  I  learned  that  a  letter 
from  you  had  come  for  me,  and  even  then  I  was 
not  able  to  acknowledge  it.  I  have  been  very  ill; 
let  that  be  my  excuse  for  not  returning  before  this 
the  money  which  you  must  have  known  I  could 
not  accept.  I  beg  your  will  not  write  to  me  again, 
for  I  am  very  sick;  I  cannot  bear  much.  I  do 
not  send  your  letters  because  I  haven't  them ;  my 
father  took  them  to  return  them  to  you  when  he 
made  that  last  journey  which  cost  him  his  life. 
Do  what  you  please  with  mine. 

''  Lucy." 

Mortimer  Frenk  compressed  his  lips  and  held 
his  breath  while  he  read  this  letter,  and  broke 
into  a  cold  sw^eat  when  he  had  finished  it.  What 
it  refrained  from  saying  was  more  eloquent  than 
any  reproaches  could  have  been.  How  different 
.in    that   respect  from    the   letters    written   by   his 


34  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

Helen  of  Troy,  when  she  had  him  to  arraign  for 
cruelly  deserting  her !  Between  the  lines  traced 
by  the  sick  girl's  hand  he  read  things  more  potent 
in  their  suggestiveness  of  wrong  and  sorrow  than 
if  they  had  been  weighed  in  words  and  bounded 
by  expression.  Accusations  put  into  forms  of 
phrase  that  may  be  answered  are  half  answered 
already.  It  is  the  unuttered  complaint,  left  to  our 
own  tardy  sense  of  justice  and  the  imaginations  of 
remorse,  that  speaks  with  infinite  meanings  and 
makes  the  day  of  judgment  in  the  soul. 

From  a  long  and  painful  revery  Frenk  awoke 
to  the  business  considerations  of  the  letter.  Why 
could  she  not  accept  his  offer  of  money?  Wasn't 
it  enough,  or  did  she  regard  it  as  the  price  of 
blood,  an  attempted  paltry  payment  for  wrongs 
against  which  all  the  wealth  of  the  world  could 
not  turn  the  scales?  And  why  did  she  say  he 
must  have  known  she  could  not  accept  it?  There 
were  stings  in  that,  for  a  proud  fellow  like 
Frenk. 

But  his  troubled  thoughts  finally  centred  in  the 
question  of  those  unreturned  letters.  She  did  not 
say  she  would  have  sent  them  back  if  she  had  had 
them ;  yet  it  seemed  that  she  had  once  intended 
to  do  so  ;  and  though  he  was  glad  to  have  escaped 
an  interview  with  her  father,  which  could  hardly 
have  been  otherwise  than  embarrassing,  to  say  the 
least,    he  bemoaned  the  ill-luck  which  had    pre- 


''BRADWAITE   HAS   THOSE    LETTERS"  35 

vented  him  from  receiving  the  desired    package. 
Now,  what  could  have  become  of  it? 

*'  After  inquiring  for  me  here,"  the  broker  re- 
flected, "  he  seems  to  have  gone  straight  to  Brad- 
waite's  office,  where  he  died.  I'm  thankful  he 
didn't  die  in  my  office  chair  !  "  (He  shuddered  at 
the  thought.)  '*  But,  confound  it,  Bradwaite  has 
those  letters  !  " 


» 


36  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 


VIII 

THE   DEAD    MAN'S    CHAIR 

After  taking  three  days  to  think  the  matter 
over  and  brace  up  his  resolution,  Frenk  one  morn- 
ing mounted  the  stairway  of  Baldwin's  Block,  and 
halted  at  a  door  on  the  ground-glass  of  which, 
lettered  in  blue,  were  the  words,  "Jay  Bradwaite, 
Counsellor-at-Law."  He  had  been  there  many 
times  before  on  a  more  hopeful  errand  than  that 
which  he  had  now  at  his  fluttering  heart.  He 
couldn't  help  the  untimely  recollection  that  George 
Tilbury  had  been  there  since ;  and  on  entering  he 
would  have  been  grateful  for  some  sign  that  would 
enable  him  to  avoid  the  dead  man's  chair. 

But  he  was  fresh  and  cheerful  as  to  countenance, 
trim  and  well  brushed  as  to  dress  and  whiskers, 
likewise  tall  and  gracefully  bending  as  to  form, 
when  the  lawyer  looked  over  at  him  from  a  book 
balanced  on  his  knee  by  an  open  window.  Doves 
were  fluttering  and  cooing  behind  him  on  the  outer 
sill,  where  he  had  just  been  feeding  them. 

''  You  make  an  interesting  picture  with  that 
window  for  a  background,"  said  the  former  client. 
*'  It  seems  an  odd  recreation  for  a  lawyer —  caring 
for  doves !  " 

•*  We  are  not  all   hawks  and  owls,"   Bradwaite 


THE   DEAD    MAN'S    CPIAIR  37 

replied,  laying  a  mark  between  the  open  leaves  of 
his  law-book.  *'  Once  in  a  while  we  battle  to 
rescue  a  dove  from  such  birds  of  prey;  I  do. 
What  can  I  do  for  you  to-day?" 

That  is  the  sort  of  question  to  put  when  you 
wish  politely  to  intimate  to  your  visitor  that  he  is 
expected  to  come  at  once  to  business  and  depart 
when  business  is  done. 

*'  It's  a  long  while  since  I  have  seen  you,"  Frenk 
replied  with  affected  carelessness,  helping  himself 
to  a  chair  (he  hoped  it  wasn't  tJiat  chair). 

"  Yes,  and  things  have  happened,"  said  the 
lawyer,  "  which  I  suppose  I  ought  to  congratulate 
you  on.  You've  quite  recovered  from  your  hurts, 
I  see  ;  looking  wonderfully  trig  for  a  '  mashed  fire- 
man with  breast-bone  broken  ' !  "  (Bradwaite  was 
a  reader  of  Walt  Whitman,  whom  he  did  not  take 
seriously.)  "  Pretty  well,  in  short,  for  a  man 
maimed  for  life  !  " 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  fully  recovered  as  you  think," 
said  Mortimer,  irritated  by  the  man's  sarcasm. 
"  My  doctor"  — 

*'  Well,  then,  I'll  congratulate  you  on  something 
else,"  interrupted  the  lawyer.  "  How  is  Mrs. 
Frenk?" 

*'  She  is  delightful,"  Frenk  replied,  rallying  and 
assuming  to  be  very  much  at  ease  as  he  dangled 
one  leg  over  the  other.  "Why  don't  you  ever  call 
and  see  us?" 


38  A   QUESTION   OF  DAMAGES 

*'  The  truth  is,  I  have  no  time  except  for  busi- 
ness and  my  intimate  friends." 

Frenk  dangled  his  leg  (it  was  a  rather  long  one, 
handsomely  pantalooned  and  booted),  and  played 
with  a  paper-cutter  he  took  up  from  the  desk, 
and  grimaced  blandly,  wondering  whether  he  had 
better  take  offence  at  these  remarks  or  appear  not 
to  mind  them. 

"  I  have  called  partly  on  business,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile  which  could  hardly  be  called  spon- 
taneous. *'  Miss  —  Tilbury  —  has  written  me 
about  some  letters  —  old  letters  of  mine  — which 
were  to  have  been  delivered  to  me  by  her  father. 
I  understand  they  are  awaiting  me  here." 

*'  You  don't  understand  any  such  thing,"  the 
lawyer  answered  curtly.  ''  Nobody  knows  I  have 
any  such  letters.  You  surmise  that  I  may  have 
them;  and  I  will  do  you  the  justice  to  add  that 
your  surmise  is  correct." 

*'  The  same  thing,"  murmured  Frenk,  wishing 
he  could  afford  to  get  angry  with  this  cool,  pro- 
voking  attorney. 

''  Not  at  all.  You  wished  to  imply  that  Miss 
Tilbury  had  told  you  I  had  them,  and  had  given 
you  authority  to  call  for  them." 

**  She  certainly  tells  me  the  letters  were  sent  to 
me ;   and  I  construe  that  as  sufficient  authority." 

"  By  no  means,  my  good  fellow.  Her  father, 
after  certain  things  had   happened  which  I  need 


THE   DEAD    MAX'S    CHAIR  39 

not  mar  the  harmony  of  this  interview  by  enu- 
merating, took  those  letters  to  return  them  to  you. 
When  he  found  that  you  had  not  only  discarded 
and  deserted  his  daughter,  but  that  while  she 
was  waiting  in  such  agonies  of  mind  as  coarsely 
organized  mortals  like  vou  and  me,  Frenk,  can- 
not  even  comprehend,  —  that  while  she  was  thus 
waiting  for  one  honest  word  you  did  not  write, 
you  were  already  a  married  man  enjoying  your 
honeymoon, — why,  then  he  naturally  changed 
his  mind." 

Mortimer  had  turned  pale. 

u  How  —  changed  his  mind?"  he  inquired  in  a 
forced  voice. 

''  He  put  the  letters  into  my  hands." 
''With  what  object?" 

Bradwaite  laughed  quietly.  ''  That's  an  odd 
question  for  a  man  with  your  notions  of  damages. 
What  could  have  been  his  object?  " 

War  having  been  thus  declared,  Frenk  rallied 
again,  and  said  with  an  air  of  defiance : 

"  Why  haven't  you  commenced  a  suit,  then?  " 
''  There  was  no  need  to  hurry  about  that.  I 
wished  to  consult  Miss  Tilbury;  she  has  not  been 
in  a  fit  condition,  and  it  wouldn't  be  safe  to  agi- 
tate her.  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  that  you 
were  much  nearer  killing  her  than  the  railroad  peo- 
ple were  to  kilhng  you.  You  did  kill  her  father, 
let  me  tell  you.     He  died  in  that  very  chair." 


40  A   QUESTION    OF    DAMAGES 


IX 

THE   LAWYER   WHO    CARED    FOR    DOVES 

With  keen  eyes  and  alert,  but  tranquil,  gray- 
shaven  face,  the  imperturbable  Bradwaite  watched 
the  effect  of  these  slow,  even,  determined  words. 
Frenk  sat  dumb  for  some  seconds ;  his  handsome 
black  eyebrows  pencilled  once  more  on  a  counte- 
nance almost  as  white  as  that  we  saw  taken  from 
the  crushed  car.  Then  he  began  to  mumble  forth 
his  wretched  apologies. 

The  lawyer  merely  nodded.  To  deign  no 
further  answer  was  more  effective  than  any  argu- 
ment could  have  been.  The  sagacious  man  of 
the  world  used  from  policy  the  same  reticence 
that  weakness  and  the  weight  of  woe  had  imposed 
on  Lucy.  Thus  met,  Frenk's  explanations  became 
an  incoherent  mumble  and  died  on  his  lips.  Then 
Bradwaite  said  sharply : 

*'  Well !   what  do  you  propose  to  do?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  sent  her  some 
money  a  month  or  more  ago,  and  she  has  sent  it 
back." 

''  How  much?  " 

'*  Five  hundred  dollars." 

*'  Five  —  hundred  —  dollars.  Well,  Mortimer 
Frenk,  suppose,  after  you  had  lain  several  v/eeks 


THE    LAWYER   WHO    CARED    FOR   DOVES       4 1 

on  your  bed  of  suffering,  as  you  called  it,  and  tried 
in  vain  to  get  a  word  of  satisfaction  from  the  rail- 
road folks,  —  suppose  they  had  at  last  sent  you  a 
check  for  f-i-v-e  h-u-n-d-r-e-d"  (Bradwaite  seemed 
to  be  counting  the  money  as  he  slowly  repeated 
the  words),  "  what  would  you  have  done?  " 

"  If  intended  as  a  settlement  of  my  claim  I  — 
no  doubt  I  should  have  sent  it  back." 

A  significant  nod  from  Bradwaite.  "  You 
would  have  sent  it  back.  How  much  money  had 
you  given  her  before  that?" 

"  I  —  before  that?  I  can't  say  I  ever  gave  her 
any." 

'*  I  mean  when  you  were  sick  in  her  father's 
house;  when  they  took  care  of  you,  and  hired  a 
servant  and  engaged  night  watchers,  and  she 
dismissed  her  pupils,  and  he  gave  his  time  and 
strength,  and  nothing  was  spared  which  first  your 
life  and  afterward  your  comfort  required.  How 
large  a  part  of  all  that  expense  incurred  on  }-our 
account  did  you  meet  at  the  time?" 

Frenk  colored  with  confusion,  and  endeavored 
still  further  to  explain. 

"  I  am  aware  how  I  —  how  my  apparent  neg- 
lect in  that  matter  —  must  strike  a  person  who 
does  not  take  into  consideration  all  the  circum- 
stances." 

'*  Oh,  yes,  the  circumstances  —  how  you,  as  soon 
as  you  were  able,  applied  yourself  assiduously  to 


42  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

making  love  to  the  daughter,  thinking  perhaps  to 
pay  in  that  way  for  the  trouble  you  were  giving, 
like  the  young  man  who  advertised  for  board  in  a 
family  where  his  Christian  example  would  be  con- 
sidered a  sufficient  compensation.  I  don't  over- 
look your  noble  efforts  in  that  direction.  But 
what  I  ask  is,  how  much  cash  did  you  fork  out?" 

"It  was  panic  times,  you  remember;  money 
was  very  tight  with  us,  and  expecting  you  would 
bring  the  railroad  folks  to  a  settlement"  — 

*'  Expecting  I  would  do  what  you  persistently 
prevented  me  from  doing.  Very  well ;  what  has 
that  to  do  with  it?" 

"  Whatever  I  should  get  from  them  I  promised 
to  Miss  Tilbury." 

*'  You  promised  to  marry  her,  too.  But  we  are 
not  talking  about  unsubstantialities.  I  ask,  how 
much  actual  cash  did  you  hand  over  for  the  trouble 
and  expense  you  caused  them?  " 

"  Not  any,  until  that  five  hundred  "  — 

"  Not  a  cent,  until  after  you  were  married  and 
honeymooned,  and  she  was  heart-broken  and  her 
father  dead,  and  you  knew  he  had  died  in  my 
office ;  then,  surmising  what  he  had  come  to  me 
for,  you  sent  her  a  check  which  you  hoped  would 
settle  all  claims,  pecuniary  and  other.  That  from 
a  man  with  your  mountainous  ideas  of  damages  ! 
Come  now,  Frenk !  "  and  the  lawyer  laughed. 

**  We  may  as  well  come  to  the  point  at  once," 


THE   LAWYER   WHO    CARED    FOR   DOVES       43 

said  Mortimer,  smarting  under  these  thrusts. 
**  How  much  do  you  want?" 

"I'd  rather  leave  the  amount  for  you  to  fix. 
Then  we  shall  have  something  handsome.  You 
have  views  on  such  subjects  that  are  worth  the 
while.     Mine  are  too  narrow." 

"  What's  the  use  of  joking  about  so  serious  a 
matter?  I'll  give  you  $1,000,  Bradwaite,  for  those 
letters   and   a   receipt  in  full  for  all  claims." 

"  It  is  you  that  are  joking,  Mortimer  Frenk  !  A 
thousand?  Why,  you  wanted  $25,000  for  merely 
physical  injuries.  You  were  laid  up  for  nearly  three 
months;  and  consider  how  agreeably  entertained 
you  were  in  your  convalescence.  Moreover,  there 
was  no  villanous  intent  on  the  part  of  the  railroad 
company.  They  were  not  personally  to  blame 
for  the  breaking  of  the  axle  that  threw  the  cars 
from  the  track.  But  you,  as  there  is  a  Ruler  in 
heaven,"  Bradwaite  went  on,  with  subdued  yet 
terrible  emphasis,  "  you  have  a  heavier  account  to 
settle  for  what  you  have  made  Lucy  Tilbury  suffer. 
Your  bodily  injuries  alone  have  been  nothing  to 
hers.  You  are  about  your  business  again ;  you 
have  had  your  nice  little  wedding  journey;  you 
are  still  an  ornament  to  society ;  you  have  a 
charming  wife,  a  bright  future.  But  she?  I 
doubt  that  she  ever  recovers  her  health.  She  may 
possibly  get  back  the  pupils  she  dismissed,  but 
she  will  no  longer  have  heart  or  strength  for  the 


44  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

lessons.  Her  father  is  in  his  grave.  It  isn't  prob- 
able she  will  ever  give  another  the  heart  you  won 
and  flung  away.  I  see  before  her  only  desolate 
years  and  poverty  and  hard  work,  while  you, 
Frenk,  are  aiming  to  be  ranked  a  millionaire.  A 
thousand  dollars?     Oh,  fie  !  " 

"  I  see  no  possibility  of  our  coming  to  terms," 
muttered  Frenk,  with  the  coldness  of  despair. 

Bradwaite  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  replied 
in  a  tone  of  easy  indifference : 

"  That  depends  on  you.  If  you  should  change 
your  mind  before  twelve  o'clock,"  looking  at  his 
watch,  *'  let  me  know  and  save  trouble.  Good 
morning." 

Frenk  remained  fixed  in  his  seat.  Although,  as 
we  have  intimated,  there  was  but  little  of  the  malig- 
nant fiend  about  him,  he  could  have  found  it  in 
his  heart  to  murder  the  agent  of  human  and  per- 
haps divine  justice  who  was  thus  putting  him  to 
the  rack. 

''What  do  you  mean  by  saving  trouble?"  he 
demanded.     "We  may  as  well  speak  plainly." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Bradwaite,  with  a  dry  laugh, 
"  I  fancied  I  was  speaking  rather  plainly.  But  I 
don't  mind  adding  that  I  meant  the  trouble  to  my- 
self of  attaching  your  various  bits  of  property  to 
the  tune  of  $30,000,  and  the  trouble  on  your  part 
of  defending  a  suit  regarding  which  there  can  be 
but  one  question  —  the  amount  of  damages." 


THE   LAWYER   WHO    CARED    FOR   DOVES       45 

**  Thirty  thousand  !  "   said  the  appalled  broker. 

**  I  say  thirty  because  I  have  inadequate  notions 
of  such  things,  as  you  know.  If  you  could  make 
up  a  mouth  to  say  twenty-five  to  the  corporation, 
I  am  aware  that  I  ought  to  say  fifty  or  sixty  to  you. 
But  I  am  a  modest  man;  and  I  try  to  be  a  just 
man.  I  ask  for  my  client  only  what  is  right  and 
what  I  see  to  be  within  the  range  of  possibilities. 
If  you  oblige  me  to  bring  suit  it  shall  be  for  $30,- 
000  —  not  a  cent  less;  and  I  sha'n't  wait  for  you 
to  put  your  property  out  of  your  hands,  either." 

"  I  don't  want  a  suit  of  this  sort,"  said  Frenk 
through  his  closed  teeth. 

'*  Once  in  a  while  you  make  a  remark  character- 
ized by  good  sense  and  veracity,"  commented  the 
lawyer. 

'*  But  I  am  not  going  to  be  frightened." 

"  Nobody  thinks  of  frightening  you." 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  however,  what  you  pro- 
pose to  settle  for." 

**  When  Mr.  Tilbury  sat  in  that  chair  where  you 
are  sitting  now  and  told  me  his  heart-rending 
story,  and  gave  me  those  letters,  I  said  they  should 
net  her  $15,000.  I  stickto  that.  I  shall  make  no 
charge  for  my  services,  unless  I  have  to  sue  you. 
In  that  case  we  go  for  the  larger  figures,  so  that 
everybody  may  have  a  plum." 

''You  know  very  well,"  said  Mortimer,  "  $15,- 
000  would  clean  me  out." 


46  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

''  I  know  very  well  it  wouldn't.  While  you  were 
laid  up  with  broken  bones,  and  suffering  those 
imaginary  losses  the  corporation  was  to  pay  for, 
your  business,  conducted  by  your  partner,  who 
knows  a  great  deal  more  about  it  than  you  do,  was 
more  profitable  than  ever  before.  You  are  worth 
to-day  $40,000  or  $50,000.  Spare  the  girl,  whose 
happiness  and  prospects  you  have  blighted,  $15,- 
000,  as  you  well  can,  —  that  at  6  per  cent,  will  give 
her  $900  a  year  to  relieve  her  from  drudgery  and 
want." 

"  You  said  you  were  waiting  to  consult  her." 

''  I  sha'n't  wait  any  longer.  If  she  was  well 
enough  to  return  your  little  check  in  so  business- 
like a  manner,  she  will  be  well  enough  to  give  this 
affair  the  trifling  attention  it  may  need.  It  won't 
need  any  at  present.  I  shall  act  at  once  under  the 
old  instructions." 

"  You  ought  to  give  me  a  little  time  to  think 

of  it." 

'*  True.  I  forgot  you  were  a  married  man.  Per- 
haps you  would  like  to  talk  it  over  with  your 
wife?"  Mortimer  winced  ;  evidently  she  was  the 
last  person  he"  would  wish  to  have  know  of  this 
new  question  of  damages.  ''  I'll  give  you  till  to- 
morrow at  tv\&elve  o'clock.  But  none  of  your  tricks 
meanwhile.  If  I  hear  of  a  move  toward  one  on 
your  part  —  clap!  I  have  everything  ready,  and 
the  papers  will  be  served  at  once." 


THE   LAWYER   WHO    CARED   FOR   DOVES       47 

"  You  will  say  something  less  than  $15,000  if  I 
bring  you  cash  in  hand.     You  will  say  $5,000. 

Frenk  made  this  suggestion  doubtfully  as  he  rose 
to  go.     Bradwaite  answered  without  stirring  from 

his  chair : 

''  Not  five,  nor  ten,  nor  fourteen,  nor  anything 
less  than  the  exact  sum  I  have  named.  Fifteen 
thousand  in  fist,  or  a  scramble  for  thirty !  I  am 
doing  business  in  my  own  way  now,  not  in  yours. 
I  begin  at  the  exact  figure  where  I  mean  to  leave 
off,  unless  you  compel  me  to  go  up  a  step." 

''  I  am  sure  Miss  Tilbury  would  not  approve  of 
this  grab,"  said  Frenk,  moving  toward  the  door. 
''  She  will  approve  of  whatever  I  do." 
"  You  have  seen  her?  " 

'<  I  have.  It  was  on  me  the  duty  fell  of  carrying 
to  her  the  news  of  her  father's  death  —  and  its 
cause.  I  am  a  busy  man,  but  I  couldn't  do  less 
than  run  up  to  Camp  Creek  to  break  as  softly  as 
possible  that  double  stroke  to  her  — her  lover's 
marriage,  her  father's  death.  May  my  good  angel 
save  me  from  the  necessity  of  ever  carrying  another 
such  message  to  man  or  woman  !  " 

The  lawyer's  voice,  usually  so  level  and  firm, 
had  a  tremor  in  it  as  he  uttered  this  fervent  truth. 
Frenk  made  no  reply,  but  with  a  mightily  per- 
turbed countenance  left  the  room. 


48  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 


X 

MORTIMER   FRENK   REVISITS    CAMP    CREEK 

If  by  some  Asmodean  magic  his  mental  roof 
could  have  been  lifted  and  his  thoughts  made  visi- 
ble, the  newly  married  Mortimer  would  hardly 
have  been  so  much  envied  for  the  next  bad  hour 
or  two.  It  was  like  sweating  his  heart's  blood  to 
think  of  paying  the  price  fixed  by  Bradwaite  for 
his  inordinate  folly.  Burning  regret  for  what  had 
brought  his  punishment  upon  him,  and  fear  of  yet 
more  distressing  consequences,  took  the  place  of 
remorse  in  this  man's  nature;  and  he  forgot 
Lucy's  misfortunes  in  agonizing  over  his  own. 

He  looked  wildly  in  many  directions  for  some 
way  out  of  his  entanglement;  but  difficulties  met 
him  on  every  side.  Impossible  to  put  his  prop- 
erty out  of  the  reach  of  one  who  knew  as  much 
about  it  as  his  former  counsel  did.  Any  attempt 
of  the  kind  would  be  sure  to  precipitate  a  crisis ; 
and  even  if  successful,  what  public  scandal  and 
domestic  storm  would  Bradwaite  make  it  cost  him. 
His  Helen  was  of  a  jealous  and  exacting  disposi- 
tion, and  already  knew  too  much  of  the  cause  of 
his  temporary  alienation  from  her.  What  if  she 
should  know  all? 

If  the  case  should  get  into  court  and  those  let- 


MORTIMER   FRENK   REVISITS   CAMP   CREEK    49 

ters  of  his  go  in  as  evidence,  to  appear  afterward 
with  flippant  head-lines  and  ironic  comment  in  the 
Troy  and  Albany  newspapers,  —  oh,  Mortimer 
Frenk  !  It  was  the  horror  of  that  vividly  imagined 
result  which  cowed  his  spirit  whenever  in  desper- 
ate moments  he  thought  of  turning  at  bay  and 
making  a  fight  of  it.  He  could  not  believe  a  jury 
would  give  the  plaintiff  $15,000.  How  stupen- 
dous the  damages  loomed,  now  that  he  was  on 
the  other  side  of  the  question  !  After  looking 
awhile  at  the  avalanche  of  woe  a  lawsuit  would 
bring  down,  the  sum  did  not  seem  to  him  so  ap- 
palling, and  he  found  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
money  would  cover  his  escape.  But  when  he 
turned  again  to  consider  the  amount  from  the 
point  of  view  of  business,  it  expanded  to  frightful 
proportions,  like  the  evil  genii  of  the  Arabian  tale 
rising  out  of  the  bottle. 

Once,  as  he  walked  the  streets,  he  started  to  go 
back  to  Bradwaite's  office,  and  there  end  his 
agony  by  making  the  best  terms  he  could.  Then 
he  resolved  to  consult  his  own  lawyer  first  —  a 
step,  however,  which  he  shrank  from  taking;  and 
there  was  one  black  moment  when  he  was  half- 
minded  to  go  home  and  confess  all  to  his  wife, 
bow  his  head  to  the  hurricane,  and  abide  by  her 
advice. 

As  a  last  resort  he  caught  at  a  cobweb  which 
had  been  hovering  all  the  while  before  his  eyes. 


50  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

now  a  vanishing  gossamer  and  again  as  some- 
thing substantial  to  the  grasp  :  he  would  appeal  to 
Lucy. 

He  hastened  to  his  office  with  the  intention  of 
writing  her  another  letter,  and  began  two  or  three. 
Having  torn  them  all,  he  suddenly  started  up, 
looking  at  his  watch.  There  was  just  time  to 
get  the  train  for  Camp  Creek. 

Despatching  a  message  to  his  wife  and  leaving 
word  in  the  office  that  he  would  not  be  there  in 
the  afternoon,  he  walked  out  with  a  nonchalant 
air,  and  had  ample  time  to  regret  the  dubious  en- 
terprise when  he  found  himself  speeding  away  on 
the  train  toward  scenes  he  dreaded  to  revisit. 

He  lived  his  trouble  all  over  again  in  that  jour- 
ney of  near  two  hours,  and  prepared  in  his  mind 
a  vast  deal  of  pathetic  and  persuasive  language  to 
be  used  in  the  interview  he  was  going  to  seek. 
Arrived  at  Camp  Creek,  he  walked  directly  to  the 
Tilbury  house,  so  eager  to  secure  an  advantage 
for  himself  that  he  thought  little  of  the  shock 
his  coming  might  be  to  Lucy. 

He  was  not  pleased  to  see  the  servant  he  knew 
receive  him  at  the  door.  Evidently  the  pleasure 
on  her  part  was  as  moderate.  To  his  first  humble 
question  she  answered  coldly  : 

'*  She  is  always  in ;   she  is  not  able  to  go  out." 

"  Do  you  think  —  will  she  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  any  reason  why  she  should." 


MORTIMER   FRENK   REVISITS   CAMP   CREEK     $1 

"  There  are  reasons,"  said  Mortimer,  regretting 
that  he  had  not  been  a  little  more  open-handed 
with  this  spirited  Yankee  girl  in  the  past.  "  Will 
you  tell  her  I  wish  it  very  much?" 

*'  I'd  rather  not.  She  knows  you  are  here,  and 
if  she  had  wanted  to  see  you  she  would  have  told 
me  so." 

''What  did  she  say?" 

**  She  said  she  couldn't  meet  you.  The  sight 
of  you  from  the  window  was  enough." 

The  tall  Mortimer  stood  pale  and  agitated  at 
the  door  which  had  once  been  opened  to  him  with 
boundless  hospitality.  He  had  once  felt  himself 
almost  the  master  of  that  house ;  and  now  a  pert 
village  girl  could  outface  him  there  and  bar  his 
entrance.  Was  he  to  be  thus  baffled?  Was  his 
journey  in  vain? 

"  Please  say  to  her  that  it  is  a  matter  of  very 
great  importance  —  that  I  wish  to  speak  with  her 
only  a  moment." 

"  Of  great  importance  to  her,  or  to  you?  " 

''  To  both." 

*'  If  you  insist,  I  suppose  I  must  tell  her." 
And,  leaving  him  on  the  doorstep,  the  girl  went 
reluctantly  to  do  her  errand. 

She  was  gone  several  minutes,  Frenk  gnawing 
his  lip  the  while  with  doubt,  remorse,  chagrin,  and 
a  strong  swelling  up  of  the  old  passion  which  Lucy 
had  inspired,  and  which  the  thought  of  his  near- 


52  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

ness  to  her  now  revived.  How  could  he  ever 
desert  her  as  he  did,  and  go  back  to  his  Helen  of 
Troy?  How  she  must  have  loved  him  to  take  the 
disappointment  so  much  to  heart,  and  what  happi- 
ness might  still  be  theirs  but  for  the  obstacle  which 
he  felt  that  his  weakness,  not  his  will,  had  set  be- 
tween them  !  If  she  would  only  consent  to  receive 
him,  he  was  sure  he  could  work  upon  her  sym- 
pathies, gain  her  forgiveness  and  perhaps  retain  her 
love,  and  head  off  Bradwaite. 

He  met  the  returning  servant  with  looks  of  anx- 
ious questioning. 

*'She  doesn't  feel  able  to  see  you." 

His  countenance  fell.  Still  he  could  not  give  up 
all  hope. 

''  May  I  ask  what  more  she  said?  " 

'*  She  said  you  had  not  always  shown  so  great 
an  interest  in  matters  of  importance  to  her." 

'*  That  is  true.  I  have  not  always  shown  all  I 
have  felt.  That  is  my  misfortune,  as  I  wish  to  ex- 
plain to  her.  Do  you  think  she  will  be  able  to 
see  me  later  in  the  afternoon,  or  perhaps  to- 
morrow morning?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  sir.  All  I  can  say  is,  you 
show  very  little  consideration  for  her  when  you 
insist  in  this  way.  Excuse  me,"  as  he  put  out  his 
hand,  "  I  don't  want  your  money.  Nobody  in  this 
house  wants  it,  you  "may  be  sure  !  " 

Frenk  was  not  sure,  else   he   might  have  been 


MORTIMER   FRENK   REVISITS    CAMP   CREEK     53 

more  willing  to  go  away.  Finding  that  she  scorned 
his  bribe,  he  drew  back,  hesitated,  and  finally- 
said  : 

"  I  shall  remain  in  town  till  to-morrow,  in  hopes 
she  will  conclude  to  grant  me  an  interview.  I  shall 
be  at  the  hotel." 

"  Nobody  objects  to  your  being  at  the  hotel, 
the    girl   replied,    and   seized   the   opportunity  to 
close  the  door. 


54  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 


XI 

*'  I   COME   TO   TERMS  "  * 

A  FEW  minutes  before  noon  the  next  day,  Brad- 
waite  sat  writing  at  his  desk,  when  a  young  man 
entered  whom  he  was  evidently  expecting. 

"Well,  Dick?  "  said  the  lawyer. 

"  He  didn't  come  home  last  night,  and  he  hasn't 
been  seen  at  the  ofifice  this  morning.  He  must 
have  gone  out  of  town." 

'*  Without  leaving  any  word  where  he  was  going, 
or  when  he  would  be  back?  Then  he  has  gone  to 
only  one  place,"  Bradwaite  muttered  as  he  looked 
up  at  the  clock  and  said  in  a  lower  tone,  "  His  time 
is  about  up,  but  I  will  give  him  fifteen  minutes' 
grace.  Come  around  again  in  about  twenty  minutes, 
Richard  ;  I  shall  probably  have  an  errand  for  you.'' 

Richard  retired.  The  bells  sounded  twelve 
o'clock.  Then  Bradwaite  took  from  a  pigeon-hole 
a  paper  which  he  looked  over  carefully,  filling  in 
certain  blank  spaces  with  a  pen.  He  was  thus 
occupied  when,  hearing  a  step,  he  looked  up  and 
beheld  an  apparition.     It  was  Mortimer  Frenk. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Bradwaite,  with  a  steady  glitter  in 
his  eyes.     "  I  had  given  you  up." 

The  broker's  face  showed  signs  of  hurry  and 
worry  and  weariness  and  despair. 


"I   COME   TO   TERMS"  55 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  am  too  late,"  he  said,  wiping 
his  forehead. 

''Well,  no;  but  in  ten  minutes  this  paper  would 
have  gone  around  to  the  clerk  of  the  court.  Your 
delay  is  excusable.  You've  been  out  of  town,  I 
hear." 

"  I'd  like  to  know  how  you  heard,"  replied 
Mortimer. 

"  Oh,"  the  lawyer  laughed  quietly,  "  a  promi- 
nent man  like  you  can't  go  and  come  without  hav- 
ing his  movements  noted.  That's  one  of  the 
penalties  of  popularity.  How  did  you  enjoy  your 
stay  at  Camp  Creek?" 

Not  knowing  hew  much  to  admit  or  how  much  to 
deny,  the  disconcerted  Mortimer  remained  dumb. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  didn't  enjoy  it,"  said  the  exas- 
perating Bradwaite.  "  You  didn't  find  the  old-time 
entertainment.     Did  you  see  her?" 

"  I've  come  to  talk  business,"  said  Frenk. 

"  So  I  supposed.  And  I  am  talking  business. 
If  you  saw  my  client  and  got  any  important 
concessions  from  her,  they  should  be  talked  over 
first." 

"  I  didn't  see  her,  and  you  know  I  didn't." 
Mortimer  sat  down,  not  in  the  dead  man's  chair, 
and  without  crossing  his  legs  in  the  easy  manner 
of  the  day  before.  "  I  believe  she  was  acting  by 
your  advice  when  she  sent  back  my  check,  when 
she  refused  to  see  me  yesterday  and  this  morning, 


56  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

and  returned  unopened  the  note  I  despatched  from 
the  hotel." 

"Whether  she  was  or  not,"  said  the  lawyer  with 
satisfaction,  "  I  must  say  I  think  she  acted  very 
wisely.  She  knows  you  do  not  seek  her  for  her 
good,  and  she  does  right  to  snub  you.  Now  I  trust 
you  will  stay  snubbed.  What  can  I  do  for  you 
to-day?" 

"  If  I  can  settle  this  matter  on  any  terms  that 
will  not  ruin  me,"  faltered  the  crestfallen  Frenk, 
''  I  suppose  I'd  better  do  it.  But  you  mustn't  stick 
to  the  figure  you  named  yesterday.  It  is  prepos- 
terous." 

"  If  that  is  your  opinion,"  Bradwaite  responded 
in  the  curtest  manner,  '*  it  is  useless  to  spend  any 
more  breath  in  talk."  And  he  turned  to  his 
document. 

'*  Are  you  a  man  without  mercy?"  said  the  de- 
spairing  Mortimer. 

''  Without  mercy  for  men  who  are  without  prin- 
ciple ;  but  I  have  a  great  deal  of  mercy  for  their 
victims." 

Frenk  chewed  on  this  hard  saying  for  a  moment, 
then  asked : 

**  How  much  time  will  you  give  me?  " 

"To  shuffle  and  postpone  settlement?  Not  an 
hour  !     Not  a  minute  !  " 

"  I  mean  — to  raise  the  money." 

"  As  much  as  is  necessary ;    but  that  will  not 


*'I   COME  TO   terms"  5/ 

be  a  great  deal.  If  you  would  like  to  glance  at  a 
list  of  your  bits  of  property,  real  and  personal,  on 
which  money  can  be  raised  with  little  trouble,  here 
it  is.  Perhaps  Forbush  &  Frenk  can  shave  a  little 
note  for  you,"  the  lawyer  added  with  a  smile. 

"  I  suppose  my  partner  will  have  to  know  about 
it,"  murmured  Mortimer  with  growing  discontent. 
*' But  for  heaven's  sake  don't  let"  — he  was  going 
to  say  ".  my  wife,"  but  he  checked  himself  and 
added,  "don't  let  anybody  else  know!" 

*'  Certainly  not,"  smiled  Bradwaite.  "  Do  I 
clearly  understand  that  you  come  to  terms?  My 
messenger  is  waiting  at  the  door." 

"  I  come  to  terms,"  was  the  answer,  in  something 
between  a  whisper  and  a  groan. 


58  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 


XII 

''  FURS   AND    DIAMONDS   FOR  THAT   WOMAN  !  " 

The  $15,000  was  duly  paid  over  to  Bradwaite 
for  the  benefit  of  his  client.  She  had  already 
learned  from  him  that  he  was  acting  under  her 
father's  instructions  in  trying  to  obtain  some  sort 
of  justice  from  the  man  who  had  wronged  her. 
But  in  her  feeble  condition  she  gave  the  matter 
not  much  thought,  and  realized  not  at  all  what 
that  justice  was  to  be  until  one  day  —  it  chanced 
to  be  on  the  anniversary  of  that  fatal  last  of 
August —  he  paid  her  a  visit,  and,  having  carefully 
led  the  conversation  up  to  the  point,  announced 
to  her  the  fact  that  he  had  in  his  bank  deposit 
$15,000  awaiting  her  order. 

Lucy  was  dazed.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Bradwaite,"  she 
exclaimed,  "I  can  never  accept  it!  I  can  never 
take  money  as  compensation  for  such  wrongs  !  " 
And  still  weak  in  body  and  mind,  overcome  with 
recollections  of  the  past  suffering,  she  gave  way 
to  convulsive  tears. 

In  vain  he  used  his  powers  of  persuasion  to 
overcome  the  natural  repugnance  of  a  delicate 
soul  to  receive  any  material  benefit  from  such  a 
source.     At  last  he  said : 

**  Well,  I    have  followed   your  father's  instruc- 


**  FURS   AND    DIAMONDS   FOR  THAT  WOMAN  !  "    59 

tions  and  done  what  I  thought  was  best.  Now 
all  that  I  can  say  is  that  the  money  is  yours,  and 
you  can  do  what  you  like  with  it.  If  you  decline 
to  take  it  for  your  own  advantage,  no  doubt  \'ou 
can  find  worthy  charities  to  devote  it  to."  His 
tone  of  voice  took  on  a  peculiar  significance.  *'  I 
can  recommend  an  object.  j\Iake  a  present  of  it 
to  Frenk's  wife." 

"  Do  you  mean  it?"  said  Luc}-,  in  surprise  and 
doubt. 

''If  you  should  see  the  silks  and  furs  and  jewels 
she  requires  to  set  off  her  beauty,  you  would  be 
convinced  that  she  at  least  can  find  a  use  for  it 
if  you  cannot.  Frenk  is  very  proud  of  her;  dia- 
monds become  her  immensely." 

Lucy's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  I  can't  say  now  what  I  will  do.  Keep  the 
money  for  me  till  I  can  think  it  over.  Pay  your- 
self out  of  it,  at  all  events  ;  and  accept  my  sincere 
thanks  for  all  your  kindness." 

Seeing  that  his  last  shaft  had  hit  the  mark, 
Bradwaite  withdrew,  saying  to  himself: 

"  Furs  and  diamonds  for  that  woman?  Not 
much  !  A  pretty  good  stroke,"  he  chuckled,  "  for 
an  old  bachelor  supposed  to  know  nothing  of  the 
feminine  mind  !  " 

Even  after  the  money  was  invested  in  her  name 
Lucy  could  not  bring  herself  to  use  any  part  of  it. 
She  lived  frugally,  dressed  plainly,  and  as  soon  as 


60  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

her  health  would  allow,  resumed  the  old  and 
much-loved  task  of  teaching  music.  She  did  not 
love  it  so  well  now,  but  went  to  it  often  in  a  sort 
of  dream,  from  the  need  she  felt  of  earning  her 
living  and  keeping  her  mind  from  preying  upon 
itself.  The  house,  which  was  almost  the  only 
property  her  father  left  her,  she  let  to  a  small 
family  with  whom  she  boarded,  retaining  her  old 
room  and  the  use  of  the  parlor  for  her  piano  and 
pupils. 

Meanwhile  unalloyed  prosperity  was  not  the 
portion  in  life  of  Mr.  Mortimer  Frenk.  The  pay- 
ment of  the  $15,000  proved  a  turning  point  in  his 
fortunes.  It  was  the  cause  of  some  misunder- 
standing with  his  partner,  who  afterwards,  to  set 
himself  right  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Frenk,  when  that 
high-spirited  lady  attacked  him  mistakenly  in  her 
husband's  behalf,  told  the  whole  story  of  the 
breach  of  promise  and  the  heavy  damages.  We 
shall  not  bring  our  readers  within  the  sweep  of 
the  domestic  cyclone  which  ensued.  Enough  to 
say  a  dissolution  of  partnership  was  the  result, 
Frenk  setting  up  by  himself,  and  speedily  demon- 
strating the  truth  of  what  Bradwaite  had  said  of 
the  comparative  abilities  of  the  two  men.  Fur- 
bush's  stock  went  up,  while  Frenk's  as  steadily 
went  down. 

His  suit  with  the  railroad  corporation  came  to 
trial  and  the  jury  awarded  him  $3,000.     He  ap- 


*'  FURS   AND    DIAMONDS    FOR  THAT  WOMAN  !  "    6l 

pealed  it,  and  on  a  second  trial  the  jury  failed  to 
agree.  A  third  jury  gave  him  $2,500,  with  which 
he  was  forced  to  content  himself,  although  the 
amount  barely  sufficed  to  pay  the  expenses  of 
the  suit.  How  much  more  he  might  have  got  if 
he  could  have  had  Lucy  and  her  father  as  wit- 
nesses he  couldn't  surmise.  But  George  Tilbury 
was  in  his  grave,  and  any  reminiscence  of  his 
breach  of  promise  brought  into  court  would  not 
have  furthered  his  cause. 

His  Trojan  Helen  had  married  his  money  quite 
as  much  as  she  had  married  him,  and  her  extrav- 
agance in  using  it  for  luxury  and  display  had 
done  its  share  in  bringing  him  to  his  downfall.  In 
three  years  we  find  him  suspending  payment  and 
settling  with  his  creditors  for  fifteen  cents  on  a 
dollar.  It  was  currently  reported  that  their  life 
was  not  a  perfect  model  of  domestic  harmony 
during  these  troubled  times. 

But  happy  or  not,  their  union  was  brief.  While 
he  was  settling  with  his  creditors  his  wife  died 
suddenly,  leaving  a  child  two  years  old  and  an 
infant  that  did   not  long  survive  her. 

Mortimer  Frenk  was  once  more  free  from  the 
marriage  yoke.  And  now  his  lonely  heart  went 
back  with  sorrowful  yearnings  to  the  love  which 
his  life  with  a  haughty  and  selfish  woman  had 
taught  him  how  to  prize.  What  hindered  him 
from  hastening  to   Lucy  (after  a  decent  period  of 


62  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

mourning)  and  atoning  for  past  wrongs  by  giving 
her  the  once  promised  hand  and  the  heart  he 
could  truly  say  had  all  along  been  more  hers  than 
ever  any  other's?  How  much  he  may  have  been 
influenced  by  the  fact  that  his  $15,000  had  pre- 
ceded him  in  that  direction,  a  conscientious  his- 
torian can  but  vaguely  surmise. 


*'  O   MORTIMER  !  "  6^ 


XIII 

*'  O    MORTIMER  !    WHY   DIDN'T   YOU    COME  TO 
ME    SO?  " 

Thus  it  happened  that  on  a  pleasant  June  day 
of  1862  Mortimer  Frenk  once  more  stepped  from 
the  train  at  Camp  Creek  and  walked  with  nervous 
steps  to  the  house  he  knew  so  well.  He  was  a  much 
changed  man.  His  black  hair  and  side  whiskers 
were  sprinkled  with  gray.  His  face  had  a  worn 
and  haggard,  weary-worldly  expression.  Manifestly 
the  bloom  had  been  rudely  rubbed  off  his  life.  He 
looked  fully  a  dozen  years  older  than  when  he  rode 
away  from  that  door  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  cast- 
ing back  smiles  of  ardent  affection  at  Lucy,  left 
behind  to  prepare  for  the  wedding  that  was  never 
to  take  place.  The  pert  servant  who  had  shut  the 
door  against  him  at  the  last  visit  was  no  longer 
there,  but  an  unknown  woman  admitted  him  to  the 
little  parlor,  where  a  girl  of  twelve  was  practising 
an  exercise  at  the  piano.  He  begged  her  not  to 
stop,  and  the  instrument  rattled  on. 

He  sat  down  to  wait  for  Lucy,  who  was  out,  but 
expected  in  presently  to  give  this  girl  a  lesson ; 
and  he  glanced  around  to  note  the  changes  in  the 
room.  The  most  conspicuous  addition  was  a  por- 
trait of   Lucy's  father,  evidently  painted    from    a 


64  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

phot6graph,  looking  down  at  him  from  the  wall, 
with  eyes  so  mildly  sad  that  they  gave  him  a  most 
uncomfortable  thrill.  He  was  not  an  unfeeling 
wretch,  this  Mortimer  Frenk. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  young  woman  came  in  from 
the  street,  and  speaking  cheerfully  to  the  girl  at 
the  keys,  began  to  take  off  her  things.  Her  face 
was  partly  turned  from  the  visitor  when  he  started 
from  his  seat. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,  Miss  Tilbury,"  said 
the  girl. 

Lucy  turned  and  saw  rise  up  before  her  the  ghost 
of  her  old  life  and  love  and  happiness  and  long  de- 
spair. She  became  very  pale,  and  reached  out  her 
hand  to  the  piano  to  steady  her  faltering  step. 

"I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  this  surprise,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  humble  entreaty.  "  I  did  not 
intend  it." 

She  took  some  seconds  to  recover  herself,  and 
slipped  into  a  chair  beside  the  piano,  her  hat  care- 
lessly falling  back  from  her  looped-up  light  auburn 
hair.  Then  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  with  bright 
eyes  fixed  upon  him,  and  a  look  too  sad  to  be 
called  a  smile : 

**  It  is  a  surprise,  Mr.  Frenk.  I  saw  no  reason 
why  we  should  ever  meet  again." 

**  There  are  reasons,  as  I  hope  to  convince 
you,"  said  Mortimer,  "  if  you  will  grant  me  a  few 
words." 


"  O   MORTIMER  !  '*  65 

Lucy  hesitated.  She  had  nearly  recovered  her 
self-possession,  and  her  color  —  the  same  exquis- 
itely fresh  and  delicate  pink  that  he  remembered 
—  was  coming  back  into  her  cheeks.  She,  too, 
had  grown  older,  but  in  an  indescribably  different 
way  from  him.  The  woman  was  somehow  lovelier 
than  the  girl.  Her  brow  seemed  fuller,  her  nostrils 
finer,  the  lines  of  her  face  were  emphasized  by 
experience,  the  curve  of  her  mouth  was  full  of 
sweetness  and  strength.  She  turned  to  the  girl  on 
the  piano-stool. 

'*  Will  you  excuse  me  to-day.  Bertha?  " 
Then,  holding  her  hat  by  the  ribbons,  after  the 
pupil  was  gone   she  turned   her  steady  luminous 
blue  eyes  on  Frenk. 

''  I  have  come,"  he  said,  bending  earnestly  tow- 
ard her  from  the  chair  where  he  sat,  "  because 
I  am  not  happy ;  because  I  never  could  be  and 
never  can  be  happy  until  I  am  allowed  the  privi- 
lege of  making  some  explanations." 

Lucy  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  seeing  far 
more  than  he  dreamed,  with  that  clear,  spiritual 
gaze.  She  saw  the  worldly  lines  in  his  face  grown 
permanent  and  hard,  with  little  lairs  of  craft  and 
greed  about  the  corners  of  the  eyes  and  mouth. 
She  could  see  now  that  they  had  always  been  there, 
and  wondered  what  blindness  had  prevented  her 
from  discerning  them,  even  amid  the  charms  those 
fine  features  had  for  her  in  their  fresher  manhood. 


66  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

*'  I  can  believe  that  you  have  not  been  very 
happy,"  she  said  at  length.  "  But  I  don't  see  that 
explanations  can  be  useful  to  either  of  us.  The 
past  is  past ;  it  is  irrevocable.  I  would  prefer  to 
let  it  be." 

''  I  can't  let  it  be  !  "  exclaimed  Frenk.  '*  I  did 
a  terrible  thing.  It  has  followed  me,  it  has 
gnawed  my  heart,  it  has  been  a  shadow  on  my 
life,  and  it  will  pursue  me  to  the  grave  unless  I 
can  hear  you  say  you  forgive  me." 

*'  Let  me  say  at  once,  then,  that  I  forgive  you, 
and  be  spared  the  rest,"  Lucy  replied,  with  a  coun- 
tenance full  of  pain  and  pity. 

Still  Frenk  was    not  satisfied.     *'  You    are    not 

prepared  to  believe  in  me.     I  cannot  bear  that !  " 

"  It  is  not  enough,  then,  to  say  that  I  forgive  you, 

but  I  must  believe  in  you,  too?"     Lucy  smiled. 

**  You  ask  too  much,  Mr.  Frenk  ! " 

*'  I  don't  wonder  you  say  so.  It  is  because  you 
did  not  understand  why  I  acted  as  I  did,"  he  con- 
tinued, edging  again  towards  his  explanations. 

"  I  think  I  understand.  I  didn't  at  the  time,  for 
I  did  not  know  you.  It  took  me  a  long  while  to 
learn  that  you  were  not  the  being  I  imagined  you. 
If  you  had  been  that,  you  never  could  have  done 
what  you  did  —  oh,  never,  Mr.  Frenk!  " 

She  gave  a  little  shudder,  as  of  horror  at  her 
recollections.  Her  eyes  drooped  pensively;  he 
would  have  given  much  to  know  what  thoughts  of 


*'  O    MORTIMER  !  "  6/ 

him  were  veiled  by  those  pure  Hds.  He  was  glad 
she  did  not  see  the  flush  he  felt  tingling  in  his 
cheeks. 

"  Allow  me  to  protest,"  he  said,  "  that  I  zaas 
what  you  imagined.  Perhaps  not  all;  no  doubt 
you  idealized  me.  Yet  I  was  sincere — I  was  the 
soul  of  sincerity,  as  I  wrote  you  once,  and  I  never 
wrote  truer  words.     I  loved  you  devotedly  "  — 

'*  Oh,  Mr.  Frenk  !  "  She  interrupted  him  with  a 
gesture  of  entreaty,  flinging  aside  her  hat  and 
turning  away  her  face. 

"  Please  to  hear  me,"  he  insisted,  "  for  we  may 
never  meet  again.  I  loved  you  then,  I  loved  you 
always,  I  have  loved  you  ever  since." 

She  started  to  her  feet,  indignation  flashing  from 
her  eyes. 

''  Mr.  Frenk !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  he  too  rose 
and  stood  before  her,  "  you  make  me  think  worse 
of  you  than  I  have  ever  wished  to  do.  I  pitied 
your  weakness,  for  I  believed  your  heart  had  gone 
back  to  the  woman  who  had  it  before  you  saw  me. 
But  when  you  say  your  love  for  me  continued,  even 
when  you  deserted  me  in  that  cruel  way  and  mar- 
ried her,  what  can  I  think?  " 

"  Despise  me  if  you  must,"  said  Mortimer,  *'  for 
in  one  sense  it  is  true.  You  had  a  place  in  my 
heart  which  no  other  woman  had,  or  ever  can  have. 
But  I  won't  deny  that  she  had  great  power  over 
me.     She  claimed  me,  she  wouldn't  give  me  up ; 


68  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

there  were  weeks  when  I  was  nearly  insane  think- 
ing of  you,  longing  for  you,  and  trying  to  break 
the  spell  she  held  me  by  —  begging  her  to  release 
me  from  my  engagement." 

Frenk  thought  he  had  put  that  strongly  and 
effectively. 

"  And  you  told  me  you  were  not  engaged  !  " 

**  If  I  told  you  what  wasn't  quite  true,  it  was 
because  I  hoped  it  zvas  true,  and  meant  to  have  it 
true.  But,  Lucy,  \{  yon  ever  loved,  you  need  not 
be  told  how  a  powerful  and  passionate  woman  can 
cling." 

"  Perhaps  I  never  loved ;  perhaps  I  am  not 
powerful  and  passionate,"  said  Lucy,  with  strong 
agitation,  sinking  again  into  her  chair.  '*  For  I  do 
not  understand  how  she  could  hold  you.  If  you 
had  come  to  me  and  told  me  you  had  found 
another  you  preferred,  would  I  have  held  you  ?  I 
know  I  am  capable  of  some  feeling,  and  it  would 
have  been  hard  for  me,  but  I  should  have  tried  to 
be  strong,  and  I  know  I  would  have  set  you  free. 
And  I  would  have  respected  you,  loved  you,  and 
blessed  you  through  it  all.  O  Mortimer!  why 
didn't  you  come  to  me  so  ?  " 


**  THERE  CAN  BE  NO  ATONEMENT  !  "     69 

XIV 

" THERE    CAN   BE   NO    ATONEMENT ! " 

The  tears  that  followed  these  words  thrilled  him 
to  the  depths  of  his  not  very  deep  heart.  And  she 
had  called  him  Mortimer,  as  in  the  old  happy 
days  !      He  built  much  hope  on  that. 

"  I  couldn't  come  to  you.  I  couldn't  bear,  I 
didn't  dare  to  see  you.  But  I  wish  I  had  come. 
Once  more  in  your  presence  I  could  never  have 
given  you  up.  You  would  have  set  me  free 
indeed,  but  free  from  her.  You  would  have  helped 
me  to  be  true  and  strong.  You  would  have  saved 
me  from  a  most  wretched  marriage,  and  I  should 
have  made  you  happy." 

He  was  rather  pleased  with  his  own  eloquence, 
and  paused  to  observe  its  effect  on  her.  She  was 
weeping  still. 

"  Oh,  Mortimer  !  "  she  said,  *'  why  do  you  talk 
to  me  so  now?  "  And  for  a  moment  it  seemed  as 
if  the  old  love  had  reasserted  its  mastery  over  her. 

He  deemed  it  time  to  leave  the  line  of  his  ex- 
planations and  make  a  bold  advance. 

**  Because  I  am  once  more  free ;  and  oh,  Lucy  ! 
because  we  may  yet  be  happy  together." 

He  was  leaning  earnestly  toward  her  again  from 
his  chair.  He  reached  to  take  her  hand.  She  drew 
it  back  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner. 


JO  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

"  Happy  together  !  "  she  exclaimed,  all  signs  of 
her  transient  weakness  vanishing  with  her  tears. 
*'  You  and  I  ?     Never  !  " 

''  Don't  speak  that  terrible  word,  Lucy !  Our 
love  will  be  stronger  than  ever,  and  we  shall  be  all 
the  more  tenderly  united  for  this  long  separation." 

*'  Never !  "  He  was  still  leaning  towards  her, 
with  a  most  persuasive,  pleading  grimace,  but  she 
did  not  see  him.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  por- 
trait above  his  head  with  a  strange  expression,  as 
if  she  saw  the  spirit  of  her  father ;  while  her  lips 
repeated  with  tremulous  emphasis,   "  Never !  " 

''But,  Lucy!"  he  said,  awed  by  that  intense, 
sorrowful,  far-away  look,  *'  you  will  not  deny  me 
the  satisfaction  of  making  this  one  atonement  for 
the  wrong  I  did  you?  " 

**  Atonement?"  She  lowered  her  eyes  to  his 
with  a  sparkle  that  would  have  seemed  like  scorn 
in  eyes  less  deep  and  sad.  "  I  forgive  you,  as  I 
said ;  but  there  can  be  no  atonement !  The  grave 
of  my  dear  dead  father  is  between  us.  A  horrible 
gulf  of  suffering  and  despair  is  between  us.  My 
renewed  life,  my  clear  sense  of  what  is  eternally 
right  and  just,  —  all  that  is  between  us,  and  will  be 
between  us  forever." 

Her  words  were  full  of  tender  resoluteness,  and 
Frenk  felt  his  soul  pierced  by  them  as  by  a 
sword. 

"  You    pronounce  my  sentence  when    you  say 


"THERE  CAN  BE  NO  ATONEMENT!"     /I 

that,"  he  replied  after  a  pause.  ''  Must  I  give 
up  my  own  happiness,  and  the  hope  of  making 
good  my  broken  promises?" 

"The  man  you  are  to-day  cannot  make  good 
to  me  anything  in  the  past.  The  idol  you  were 
to  me — that  is  broken,  along  with  your  broken 
faith.  I  am  not  sorry  that  you  have  come,  for 
if  any  illusions  of  the  old  time  still  clung  to  my 
remembrance  of  you,  this  interview  has  swept 
them  all  away.  You  have  explained  yourself  in 
a  way  you  did  not  intend.  Seeing  you  as  you 
are  has  interpreted  to  me  what  you  were  and 
what  you  did." 

Frenk  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  silently  re- 
garded her,  so  full  of  sweet,  womanly  dignity, 
speaking  to  him  as  from  a  height ;  so  lovely,  yet 
so  inexorable.  He  even  forgot  his  forfeited 
$15,000  in  his  longing  to  possess  again  the  rich 
gift  of  that  great  love  he  had  once  cast  away. 
But  he  felt  that  to  be  impossible.  Disappointed, 
humiliated,  convicted  of  some  fatal  want  within 
himself,  he  sat  studying  her,  while  she  turned 
her  rapt  eyes  upward  once  more  to  the  picture. 
Then,  after  a  minute's  bitter  reflection,  he  said  in 
a  much  changed  voice : 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  is  the  matter 
with  me,  for  as  I  live  I  don't  know.  I  try  to  do 
right,  to  be  right ;  and  yet  you  make  me  feel  what 
a  failure  I  am." 


72  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

"You  are  indeed  a  failure,  Mr.  Frenk;  and  it 
is  because  you  have  not  built  your  life  on  any 
foundation  of  character.  You  are  not  a  man  of 
conscience.  You  have  a  weak  sense  of  obliga- 
tion. You  love  your  pleasure  and  your  ease  and 
your  profit  more  than  you  love  what  is  right  and 
true.  You  have  generous  feelings,  but  you  waste 
them.  Such  a  man  cannot  be  truly  happy  in  him- 
self, nor  give  happiness  to  others.  Living  a  life 
of  expedients,  you  know  nothing  of  the  life  of 
the  spirit.  I  see  you  do  not  even  understand 
what  I  mean  by  it.  How  then  can  we  ever  be 
united?  If  that  was  ever  possible,  it  is  no  longer 
possible  now." 

"  You  might  have  made  me  better,"  said  Frenk, 
with  glistening  eyes. 

**  We  should  very  likely  have  grown  together," 
she  replied.  *'  I  might  not  have  made  you  bet- 
ter, and  you  might  have  made  me  worse." 

All  which  went  heavily  to  the  man's  heart, 
for  he  felt  her  judgments  true  and  her  decision, 
final. 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,"  he  said,  after  an  in- 
ward struggle.  "  I  never  was  worthy  of  you, 
Lucy.     But  can't  we  still  be  friends?" 

She  smiled  faintly  over  her  arms  folded  placidly 
below  her  heart. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  have  recovered  your 
health,"  he  went  on.     "  But  I  am  pained  to  see 


"  THERE    CAN   BE   NO   ATONEMENT  !  "  73 

you    a    slave  to    those    music    lessons    again.       I 
hoped  you  would  be  relieved  of  that  drudgery." 

"  It  is  not  drudgery,"  she  replied  tranquilly. 
"  I  have  my  living  to  get,  and  it  is  well  for  all  of 
us  to  be  employed.  Oh,"  she  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, *'  I  know  what  you  allude  to  !  Strange 
I  had  not  thought  of  it  since  you  came." 

"  It  should  have  made  you  independent,"  said 
Mortimer  Frenk. 

"  You  mistake.  It  was  a  great  trial  to  me  at 
first.  I  couldn't  take  advantage  of  what  every- 
body thought  my  good  fortune.  Some  of  the  in- 
come from  it  I  have  used  to  assist  others  ;  never 
a  dollar  for  myself.  For  a  while  I  even  thought 
of  giving  it  back  to  you." 

Something  leaped  in  the  man's  heart.  She  had 
risen  as  if  to  end  the  interview.  He  rose  also, 
closely  eying  her,  a  wistful  gleam  breaking  through 
his  cloud  of  trouble. 

"  But  seeing  you  again  has  shown  me  how 
Httle  real  benefit  that  would  ever  have  been  to 
you." 

The  gleam  disappeared. 

"  Have  you  children?  " 

"  I  have  one  little  boy  not  yet  three  years 
old." 

He  did  not  suspect  the  motive  of  her  question 
and  he  answered  it  mechanically.  She  was  about 
to  speak  again,  but  something  in  his  eyes  caused 


74  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

her  to  forbear,  and  she  remained  thoughtful, 
while  he  moved  to  the  door  with  bent  head. 
Then  he  turned  and  lifted  his  eyes  to  her,  standing 
a  little  way  back  from  him  in  the  entry,  still  so 
lovely,  still  so  inexorable.  She  smiled  a  sad  good- 
by,  and  he  went  away. 


A   QUESTION   OF   HAPPINESS  75 


XV 

A   QUESTION   OF   HAPPINESS 

The  next  day  Lucy  wrote  to  Bradwaite : 
"  Please  do  not  accuse  me  of  ingratitude  for  all 
your  intended  kindness,  if  I  tell  you  once  more 
that  that  money  continues  to  be  a  burden  to  me, 
and  nothing  but  a  burden.  The  only  thing  that 
could  ever  have  reconciled  my  conscience  to  it 
would  have  been  an  opportunity  to  use  it  in  some 
work  of  noble  charity.  But  in  our  simple  village 
life  such  opportunities  are  rare.  We  have  no  poor 
class,  such  as  is  said  to  exist  in  other  countries, 
but  everybody  who  is  industrious  enjoys  some 
share  of  prosperity,  while  the  half-dozen  aged  and 
infirm  persons  who  cannot  provide  for  themselves 
are  comfortably  provided  for  by  the  community 
they  live  in. 

''  Since  it  has  transpired  that  1  have  money  I  do 
not  seem  to  know  what  to  do  with,  I  have  been 
besieged  by  respectable  beggars  whom  I  never 
heard  of  before ;  but  I  have  fears  of  doing  more 
harm  than  good  by  acceding  to  their  impudent 
demands.  Nor  am  I  one  of  those  fortunate  char- 
acters so  common  in  fiction,  if  not  in  real  life,  who 
find  it  delightfully  easy  to  do  good,  and  are  always 
sure  to   meet  with    some   fine    occasion  for   their 


^6  A   QUESTION    OF   DAMAGES 

benevolence  and  self-sacrifice.  No  doubt  the 
world  is  full  of  objects  to  which  my  undesired 
wealth  might  be  worthily  devoted.  But  how  shall 
I  obtain  personal  knowledge  of  them,  and  learn 
to  give  wisely?  I  have  no  heart  for  such  work. 
And  yet  I  might  have,  even  I,  but  for  the  depress- 
ing consciousness  that  that  money  does  not  in  any 
way  belong  to  me,  even  to  do  good  with. 

"  No,  dear  Mr.  Bradwaite.  That  is  the  secret 
of  my  indecision,  which  I  know  has  annoyed  you 
so  much ;  I  could  not  really  accept  it,  although  I 
allowed  your  friendly  persuasion  to  prevent  me 
from  promptly  declining  it.  Having  seen  Mr. 
Frenk  yesterday,  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  hesitated 
about  returning  it  to  him  ;  a  better  solution  of  the 
difficulty  has  presented  itself.  I  shall  need  your 
help  in  the  matter ;  and  if  you  will  kindly  tell  me 
how  I  can  settle  that  money  on  his  motherless 
boy,  and  will  yourself  consent  to  act  as  trustee  in 
the  case,  you  will  enable  me  to  dispose  at  last  of 
this  troublous  question  of  damages,  and  make  me, 
dear  Mr.  Bradwaite,  very  happy." 

Believing  the  lawyer  already  weary  enough  of 
what  he  deemed  her  foolish  scruples,  Lucy  feared 
this  proposal  would  only  add  to  his  vexation.  For 
two  or  three  reasons,  however,  it  gave  him  great 
satisfaction.  He  had  come  to  have  the  highest 
respect  for  those  scruples,  while  his  early  regard 
for  her,   beginning  in   sympathy  for   her   distress 


A   QUESTION   OF    HAPPINESS  ^^ 

and  indignation  at  her  wrongs,  had  grown  to  an 
ardent  admiration  for  her  character.  He  at  once 
wrote  her  a  letter,  over  which  she  shed  tears  of 

joy: 

"You  have  been  right  in  this  matter  all  along, 
and  have  shown  me  how   a  woman's    heart  may 
sometimes  be  wiser  than  the  most  learned  mascu- 
line  head  —  which    mine    is    not.       Your   present 
plan  is  the  best  that  could  possibly  be  conceived, 
for  not  only  is  Frenk  poor,  but  on  the  mother's 
side   there    are    no   near   relatives,  either   poor   or 
rich  ;    so  that  properly  managed,  this  money  may 
be  made  of  very  great  use  to  the  almost  friendless 
boy."     Such  words,  from  the  man  she  had  once 
distrusted,  but  since  learned  to  regard  as  the  noblest 
heart    and    soundest   head   she   had    ever   known, 
might  well  make  Lucy  glad. 

But  his  chief  cause  of  satisfaction  at  the  final 
disposition  she  made  of  the  money,  Bradwaite  did 
not  put  into  a  letter.  She  had  inspired  him  with 
something  more  than  admiration,  but  how  could 
he  tell  her  so  and  ask  for  her  hand,  while  it  held 
the  money  which  he  had  forced  into  it?  For,  after 
all,  he  was  as  delicately  scrupulous  as  she  was 
about  deriving  personal  profit  from  those  damages 
which  he  had  yet  deemed  it  righteous  to  exact. 
That  question  settled  at  last,  he  one  morning 
closed  his  office  door  and  hastened  to  Camp  Creek 
to  crive  his  most  earnest  attention  to  that  far  more 


78  A   QUESTION   OF   DAMAGES 

important  question  of  happiness  which  concerned 
them  both. 

Frenk  did  not  stay  in  Albany  to  congratulate  his 
successful  rival,  but  sought  about  that  time  a  new 
field  for  his  activity,  from  which  he  never  returned. 
Going  to  the  war  on  a  sutler's  wagon,  he  was 
picked  off  by  a  fever  as  fatal  as  a  guerilla  shot. 
The  son  still  lives  and  gives  promise  of  becoming 
a  better  man  than  his  father,  thanks  to  the  wise 
guardianship  and  ennobling  influence  of  his  friends, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jay  Bradwaite. 


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The  story  is  full  of  movement,  and  o"  natural,  lively  incident;  and  the  fortunes 
of  the  heroine  and  her  friends  will  be  followed  with  absorbing  interest.  Bethia's 
"New  Name"  results  frcm  her  inteliectual  and  moral  development.  Miss 
Douglas  is  a  born  story  teller;  and  in  this  volume  she  has  given  a  charm  to 
the  narration  which  will  be  felt  by  every  reader,  and  will  greatly  advance  her 
already  high  reputation. 

In  the  King's  Country.  By  Amanda  M.  Douglas.  A 
Christian  Endeavor  story.  Cloth,  $1.50. 
There  is  the  touch  of  the  born  story-teller  in  this  latest  book  of  Miss  Douglas's, 
which  has  made  her  the  friend  of  young  and  old  wherever  her  we!l-known  novels 
have  circulated.  The  strong,  earne-st  purpose  and  lofty  moral  tone  of  the  book 
make  it  a  most  excellent  companion  for  a  young  girl.  Character-building  is  its  key- 
note, and  no  one  could  fail  to  be  benefited  by  studying  the  development  of  the  life 
of  Sabrina  Ea-twood  and  its  effect  on  the  lives  of  those  around  her. 

In  Wild  Rose  Time.    By  Amanda  M.  Douglas.    Cloth  ^1.50. 

Aliss  Douglas  has  given  us  a  story  as  strong  and  true  in  its  pictures  of  life 
acO'  ug  the  poor,  and  the  trials  and  temptations  which  surround  them,  and  also  of  the 
nob.e  lives  which  spring  up  and  blossom  amid  such  scenes,  as  anything  which  has 
previously  emanated  from  her  pen. 

Faith,  Love,  Hope  and  Charity  shine  out  on  every  page  of  this  book  like  beacoc 
lights,  and  so  vivid  are  the  pen-pictures  that  one  seems  to  be  a  participant  in  them. 

Had  Miss  Douglas  written  but  this  one  book,  it  would  alone  have  placed  hei 
name  among  our  best  authors. 

LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  BOSTON,  SEND  THEIR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  FREE. 


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AMAISDA   M.  DOUGLAS'  KOVELS 

Osborne  of  Arrocliar,  By  Amanda  M.  Douglas.  Price, 
cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
"In  this  novel,  the  author  introduces  us  to  an  interesting-  family  of  girls, 
who,  in  default  of  the  appearance  of  the  rightful  heir,  occupy  an  old,  aristocratic 
place  at  Arrochar.  Just  as  it  has  reached  the  lowest  point  of  dilapidation, 
through  lack  of  business  capacity  on  the  part  of  the  family,  Osborne  appears 
to  claim  his  inheritance,  and  the  interesting  problem  presents  itself  of  marry- 
ing one  of  the  daughters  or  turning  the  family  out.  The  author  thus  gives 
herself  a  fair  field  to  display  her  skill  in  the  painting  of  character ,  the  manage- 
ment of  incident,  and  the  construction  of  the  dialogue.  She  has  been  in  a 
large  degree  successful.  We  feel  that  we  are  dealing  with  real  persons;  and, 
as  to  the  management  of  the  story,  it  is  sufficient  praise  to  say  that  the 
interest  is  cumulative.  The  book  will  add  to  the  author's  reputation." —  School 
journal,  N.  Y. 

The  Heirs  of  Bradley  House.  By  Amanda  M.  Douglas. 
Price  $1.50. 
''  The  author  has  won  a  most  honorable  place  in  the  literary  world  by  the 
character  as  well  as  cleverness  of  her  work.  Her  books  are  as  clean  and 
fresh  and  invigorating  as  a  morning  in  May.  If  she  is  not  deep  or  profound, 
she  stirs  in  the  heart  of  her  reader  the  noblest  impulses;  and  whosoever 
accomplishes  this  has  not  written  in  vain." — Chicago  Saturday  Evening 
Herald. 

"Whom  Kathie  married.    By  Amanda  M.  Douglas.    Price 
$1.50. 

Miss  Douglas  wrote  a  series  of  juvenile  stories  in  which  Kathie  figured ; 
and  in  this  volume  the  young  ladv  finds  her  destiny.  The  sweetness  and 
purity  of  her  life  is  reflected  in  the  lives  of  all  about  her,  and  she  is  admired 
and  beloved  by  all.  The  delicacy  and  grace  with  which  Miss  Douglas  weaves 
her  story,  the  nobility  of  her  characters,  the  absence  of  everything  sensational, 
all  tend  to  make  this  book  one  specially  adapted  to  young  girls. 

A  Woman's  Inlieritance.    By  Amanda  M.  Douglas.    Price 

$1.50. 

*'  Miss  Douglas  is  widely  known  as  a  writer  of  excellent  stories,  all  of  them 
having  a  marked  family  likeness,  but  all  ot  them  bright,  fascinating,  and 
thoroughly  entertaining.  This  romance  has  to  do  with  the  fortunes  of  a  young 
woman  whose  father,  dying,  left  her  with  what  was  supposed  to  be  a  large 

Eroperty,  but  which,  under  the  management  of  a  rascally  trustee,  was  very  neaj 
eing  wrecked,  and  was  only  saved  by  the  self-denying  devotion  of  one  wha 
was  strictly  under  no  obligation  to  exert  himself  in  its  behalf.  The  interest  of 
the  story  is  well  sustained  to  the  very  close,  and  the  reader  will  follow  the 
fortunes  of  the  various  characters  with  an  absorbed  fascination."  — iV^xi'  Bed- 
ford Mercury. 

Sydnie  Adriance.    By  Amanda  M.  Douglas.     Price  $1.50. 

In  this  book,  the  heroine,  being  suddenly  reduced  to  poverty,  refuses  an 
off"er  of  marriage,  because  she  thinks  it  comes  from  the  condescension  of  pity 
rather  than  frd^m  the  inspiration  of  love.  She  determines  to  earn  her  living, 
becomes  a  governess,  then  writes  a  book,  which  is  successful,  and  inhents  a 
fortune  from  a  distant  relative.  Then  she  marries  the  man—  But  let  i^is  not 
tell  th£  story.    The  author  has  told  it  in  a  charming  way. 

LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  BOSTON,  SEND  THEIR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  FREE. 


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Lee  and  Shepard's 

POPULAR  FICTIOX 


J.  T.  TROWBRIDGE'S  NOVELS 

Xeiglibor   Jackwood.     By  J.    T.   Trowbridge.     New    Revised 
Edition,  with  Autobiograpliical  Chapter  and  Portrait.  Price,  $1.50. 

"  It  sparkles  with  wit,  it  is  liquid  with  humor,  it  has  the  unmistakable  touch 
of  nature,  and  it  has  a  procession  of  characters  like  a  novel  of  Scott;  indeed, 
in  many  ways  it  recalls  that  great  master.  There  is  less  description  and  more 
action  in  it  than  is  habitual  with  Scott,  and  the  conception  of  some  of  its  sec- 
ondary characters,  such  as  the  crazy-brained  Edward  Longman,  would  not  be 
unworthy  of  him."— yo//«  Burroughs. 

Neig-hbor's  Wives.    By  J.  T.  Trowbridge.    Price,  $1.50. 

"  A  new  edition  of  one  of  the  most  successful  of  this  favorite  author's  books.  It 
will  be  read  with  fresh  interest  bv  many  who  have  welcomed  it  in  eariier  editions, 
and  to  those  who  now  give  it  their  first  reading  it  will  yield  delightful  entertainment, 
and  unfold  lessons  that  will  Uve  long  in  tlie  memory."  —  Gospel  Banner. 

Coupon  Bonds.    Bj  J.  T.  Trowbridge.    Price,  cloth,  $1.50; 
paper,  50  cents. 

"  '  Coupon  Bonds  '  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  best  short  stories  ever  published 
in  this  countrv.  It  is  a  most  happy  and  felicitous  stroke.  It  is  brimful  of  the 
very  best  quality  of  humor,  —  the  humor  that  gro\vs  naturally  out  of  the  char- 
acter and  the  s'ituation,  and  it  moves  along  briskly,  without  any  uraring  or 
pushing  by  the  author.  It  is  full  of  incident,  full  of  character,  full  of  novel 
and  ludicrous  surprises  and  situations;  and,  if  it  could  be  composed  into  a 
three-act  comedy,  would  be  as  irresistible  in  its  way  as  Sheridan's  '  School  for 
Scandal.'  "  —  Scrtbner's  Monthly. 

Cudjo's  Cave.  By  J.  T.  Trowbridge.  Price,  cloth,  $1.50; 
paper,  50  cents. 
Mr.  Trowbridge's  readers  are  accustomed  to  plenty  of  lively  incidents  and 
exciting  adventures,  and  in  this  volume  the  supply  is  surely  abundant.  The 
story  opens  with  the  adventures  of  a  Quaker  schoolmaster  in  Tennessee  pre- 
vious to  the  opening  of  the  late  war,  and  the  exciting  scenes  attendant  upon 
the  opening  of  the  great  struggle  betvveen  North  and  South  are  portrayed  in  a 
graphic  manner.  Many  of  the  chapters  recall  the  stories  of  thrilling  adven- 
ture that  were  current  in  war  times. 

Three   Scouts.      By  J.   T.   Trowbridge.      Price,  cloth,  $1.50; 
paper,  50  cents. 

This  story  is  a  companion  to  "Cudjo's  Cave"  and  "  The  Drummer  Boy,"  in 
being  a  narrative  of  stormy  events  in  the  Civil  War,  when  the  army  of  the 
Cumberland,  under  Rosecrans,  and  the  Confederate  forces,  under  Bragg,  were 
battling  with  each  other  in  1S62.     Yet  it  is  complete  in  itself  as  a  story. 

UE  AND  SttEPARD,  BOSTON,  SENO  THEIR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  FREE. 


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The  Drummer  Boy,      By  J.   T.   Trowbridge.      Illustrated. 
Price  $1.50. 

The  author  of  this  book  is  so  famous  as  a  story-writer,  that  another  excellent 
one  is  only  what  all  his  readers  expect.  It  is  a  story  of  the  late  war,  and  of  a  boy 
who  went  into  the  army  as  a  drummer,  and  who,  from  the  good  instructions  of 
a  fond  and  noble  mother,  sought  to  impart  to  his  rude  and  reckless  companions 
some  of  the  good  of  his  own  character. 

FarnelPs  Folly.     By  J.  T.  Trowbridge.     Price  $1.50. 

All  the  sterling  qualities  which  have  placed  Mr.  Trowbridge  among  the 
foremost  of  American  novelists  are  to  be  found  in  this  new  romance.  It  is  not 
a  short  story  or  series  of  sketches  that  may  be  "  devoured  "  in  an  hour,  but, 
as  the  number  of  its  pages  testify,  a  full-blooded  romance,  alive  with  incident, 
and  overflowing  with  interest. 

Martin  Merrivale:    His  X  Mark.     By  J.  T.   Trowbridge. 
Price  $1.50. 

This  story  of  New  England  life  abounds  in  passages  of  rare  humor  and 
pathos.  Not  even  in  "Coupon  Bonds,"  nor  in  "Neighbor  Jackwood  "  has 
Trowbridge  created  characters  better  fitted  to  give  him  enduring  fame.  No 
one  can  read  the  story  without  seeing  that  the  author  has  put  his  whole  soul  in 
it.  On  his  last  page,  he  says,  and  evidently  in  all  sincerity,  that  he  has 
written  it,  "  not  for  mme,  still  less  for  fortune,  but  all  tor  love." 


OLIVER  OPTIC'S  NOVELS 

Three  Millions;  or,  The  Way  of  the  World.  By  William 
T.  Adams  (Oliver  Optic).  Price,  cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  50 
cents. 

The  book  furnishes  a  most  romantic,  and,  withal,  a  most  instructive  illustra- 
tion of  the  wav  of  the  world  in  its  false  estimate  of  money.  All  who  read  the 
first  chapter,  entitled  "  Three  JMillions,"  will  not  be  satisfied  until  they  have 
read  the  thirty-five  chapters,  terminating  with  "  The  Last  of  the  Three 
Millions." 

Living"  too  Fast.      By  William  T.  Adams  (Oliver   Optk:). 

Price  $1-50. 

This  is  the  best  novel  of  a  fascinating  writer.  It  is  full  of  incidents  of  a 
fast  life,  and  of  the  expedients  to  keep  up  appearances,  resulting  in  crime, 
remorse,  and  the  evil  opinion  of  all  good  men.  The  narrative  is  replete  vvith 
startling  situations,  temptations,  and  all  the  elements  of  a  thrilling  story. 

In  Doors  and  Out.     By  William  T.  Adams  (Oliver  Optic). 

Price  $1.50. 

This  volume  contains  about  thirty  bright  and  interesting  stories  of  domestic 
life,  directed  against  the  follies  and  foibles  of  the  age.  I'hey  are  written  in  a 
kindly,  genial  style,  and  with  a  sincere  purpose  to  promote  happiness,  good 
feeling,  and  right  dealing  in  domestic,  business,  and  social  relations. 

LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  BOSTON,  SEND  THEIR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  FREL 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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